Implications
by robspace54
Summary: Things can be implied and be totally wrong. How to separate fact from fiction, or worse, gossip? This Series 4 tale explores what might have happened when Lousia returned to Portwenn instead of what we saw on the telly.
1. Chapter 1

Implications

by Robspace54

 **Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures. In writing this fanfic story the author claims no monetary or property rights of Doc Martin, its characters, settings, or storylines.**

 **In Series 4…**

"It is what _happens_ when you get _yourself_ pregnant!" Mrs. Tishell's uncouth words went through me like a knife.

I sighed and rubbed my throbbing temples. At least I stood up for myself. "I didn't get _myself_ pregnant!" I hissed back. All I'd asked our chemist for was something to help me stop having to go wee every five minutes but what I got back in turn was spite! I'd been back in the village for barely a day and trouble was piling up. First Martin, and then Mrs. Tishell, plus the oddball new Head at school.

"No?" Sally said, glaring at me, her pale blue eyes practically popping from her head.

"No." That was all I could say.

"Then how is our good doctor takin' it? Much as you would have hoped? Not a church wedding I would imagine _this_ time, not in God's house!"

Behind me the door banged open and Mrs. T changed her tune. Her mad eyes glared at me, but she tossed her short bobbed hair in a sign of dismissal. "Not really appropriate; not in your condition."

Joan Norton swooshed in. "Louisa! I heard you were back!" She stared down at my round belly. "Oh, look at you! Oh you're…"

"The amazing exploding woman," I tried to laugh.

"No, no, no, you look _beautiful_ , doesn't she Mrs. Tishell?" Joan asserted, asking Sally for affirmation. Joan hugged me and it felt good to in her embrace.

"Errh, yes," Sally replied in a semi-sweet tone one hundred and eighty degrees away from her smarminess of a moment ago.

"Well it's been months!" Joan gushed, "Thought you forgot all about us. So… how is everything? When do you get your house back?"

I explained the new Head teacher had my house.

"You could come and stay with me?" Joan urged. "Plenty of room… and I could help look after the baby?" Joan was over joyed clearly; the first person in Portwenn, to actually seem glad to see me. No, there was Bert too – good old Bert Large.

I made my escape for I didn't want to live with Joan, fearing she would keep fawning over me, and that seemed awkward. I made my excuses and left.

I heard Mrs. T say to Joan as I went out, "Oh yes, quite a poppet…"

Got myself pregnant… she made it sound like I did it with a turkey baster! Lord. I gritted my teeth as I went to school. The woman's a chemist for god's sake! Of course she would know very well, uhm, well how babies got started.

Mrs. T asked about Martin. No doubt he'd moved on given there was another woman in his life. Edith… and I asked Sally, the new school secretary.

"Dr. Montgomery?" Sally Chadwick asked. "I hear she's some sort of fertility specialist?" She glanced at my belly.

"No," I told her, "this was…" I sighed. "All natural."

"Ah."

"And… well Dr. Ellingham and I were to be married, but we didn't."

"Yes I heard."

Heard? Just what had Sally heard?

I felt a little twinge so I held my belly. "This happened anyway."

Sally looked at me with concern, so unlike the other Sally. This one nodded. "But there you go, uhm are, and just have to carry on."

"Right." Couldn't have said it better myself.

"I see."

Did she? Sally Chadwick seemed nice enough. But when someone says 'I see' like that _do_ they see? Is that short for 'oh, I don't really get it?' or 'you two were really into to things and there you go!' Either meaning is awkward, about as awkward as I had been for the last few weeks with my balance off; balance that kept getting further and further from the norm. Well, I thought to myself, Louisa you always wanted kids, or _a_ kid, so if this is the one then there you are.

I heard a footstep behind me. "Problem?" a critical male voice asked.

It was Mr. Strain the new Head, and his look said that he was very suspicious. "No, just asking about…"

Miss Chadwick smiled at him. "The new school schedule. Here you are Miss Glasson."

I took the sheet she held out. "Good. Right. Better get to it." I squeezed past the man and into the hall. Good lord the man was creepy for he was always sneaking about.

I was in my room checking on the art supplies for the day, when he came in. I sighed and put on a brave face. "Need something Mr. Strain?"

He grinned. "I just… uhm, wanted to know if things are satisfactory."

"Yes, all good."

He grinned. "I imagine you have found the school much as you left it."

"Pretty much."

He put his arms behind him and stood up straighter. "No, advice from the old Head to the new head? Any little tidbits you might care to share with me? Make my performance better?"

I shook my head. "Not my place."

He nodded but then began to walk around the room peering high and low. "All fit here?"

"The students are fine, if that's what you are asking."

He turned away and mumbled something.

"Mr. Strain? What is the matter?"

He stopped his orbiting the room and perched on one of the kid's desks. "You know I went to a school much like this one. Outside Falmouth. Small, insular, not much happened, other than the usual." He shrugged. "The custodian owned a dog which used to wander the halls. Quite extraordinary. Been there for years, both dog and man." He laughed to himself. "A fixture you might say. Dave his name was – the dog. The custodian was Mr. Cubberly."

Now I wondered what this small talk was leading to.

"O-kay."

"The dog died, you know."

Odd – very. "Ah. Well these things happen."

Mr. Strain started to rub an eye. "Yes… yes, they do. Death, life, birth…" He caught himself. "You, I mean, your baby. Miracle of life." He chuckled as he said it.

I moved behind my desk and sat down to put some distance between us. "Yes, it is."

Mr. Strain wiped at his face and I saw he was crying.

"Mr. Strain? Have a tissue."

He shook his head violently. "Why would I need a tissue?"

Tears were clearly trickling down his face. "Well… the… you seem upset."

He rose and laughed. "Good old school days," he muttered. "I'll leave you to it." Then he left, leaving me shaking my head. The man was unusual. Very emotional as well as weird.

The kids arrived soon and the day got off to a roaring start. My new class was much like the ones I had in London, just less well dressed, less worldly, and a lot poorer. But when they peered at me waiting for some wisdom, I felt myself getting a bit weepy myself. Louisa, it's the hormones, get a grip!

"Miss Glasson?" one of the girls asked.

"Yes," I glanced at the class sheet for her name. "Nancy."

What she said came out in a rush. "Where did you go? My mum said you went away but now you're back, and you're gonna have a baby, but you're not the Head teacher anymore, just a teacher and my mum and dad was wondering."

I smiled at her but closed the hall door. I faced the class and sat on my desk. From the looks on their darling little faces chins had been wagging in every home, so best tell some facts.

"Yes, I did leave the village – went up to London for a while, but now I'm back. Plus, yes I am just a teacher but that's fine. I enjoy teaching, not all the paperwork I used to have piled up in my old job. I just as soon teach you math, writing, and history, plus science, right?"

Their little heads nodded, but one of the boys held up his hand. "Yes, Ricky?" At least I was getting some of the names right.

"Robby," he said.

"Sorry. Robby, go on."

"Uhm, you're gonna have your baby this summer?"

I smiled. "I will yes."

"Oh."

I really didn't want to get into the birds and bees with this lot.

He smiled. "My brother said you and Doc Martin made a baby and that's it," his chubby hand waved in my general rotund direction.

I nodded. "Okay. Yes, we… did."

He relaxed. "My big sister made a baby with her soldier boyfriend. He's in Germany or somewhere. That's why I'm an uncle!" he said proudly. "And I'm only eight!"

Time to make a break. I walked to the world map hanging on the wall. "Let's look at Germany, right?" I pointed to the center of the EU. Now here's Germany and France over here…. Now all these countries are part of the European Union." I pointed to the continent. "Now who can help name them?"

A bunch of hands shot up so I had successfully moved our discussion away from human reproductive biology. A close run thing, but they all knew, pretty much, hopefully not the mechanics of it.

Mrs. T had hit it on the head. "Then how is our good doctor takin' it?" she'd prodded and she knew bloody well that was a good question, for he hadn't been pleased when he came to the school yesterday. We had words. I said everything that had been eating on me for months.

"Do you imagine I didn't want to discuss it in London, on my own, in a bedsit, thirty-seven years old, single, pregnant? Do you think I didn't _want_ to talk to the father? Work things out? But what would have said Mar-tin! Hm? Have you considered an abortion Louisa? I'll back you up. Whatever _you_ decide."

Martin had bristled right back. "I'd have backed you up absolutely!"

Would he have? Yes… he _would_ have, but at that point we were practically yelling at each other. The look on his face when we parted was shocking. It was a bland expression that I'd rarely seen. It got to his face after I told him I had already shifted my med care to Truro and having him treating me would be too odd.

I think at first it was shock, and then disappointment, and then resignation hit him. Is it possible I saw all that in just a few seconds? Yes, I sighed in my head. It was what I saw. Martin had emotions – they were there – most frequently expressed by yelling and glowering, but the other ones…

Martin held out his hand, not to touch my cheek, or to embrace me, but to shake my hand. His fingers were cold and limp, and though I took them, there was no flicker of a grip; might as well have been holding a piece of codfish for all the warmth it gave me.

He turned to go and I still held onto his limp fingers. His sure but thick fingers which had caressed me, stroked me, run down my face, lips, body, had made me pregnant by loving me. His green-gray eyes flicked away and he froze, his whole body like a statue for a split-second, and then he turned to go away.

No… God no... don't… wait! But he slipped away and marched out of my classroom. Snap of a finger, fickle Fate laughed, a seagull cried outside, and as I watched his broad back march away in his stiff-legged, ground-eating stride something broke.

Oh Martin, damn. I don't want this, not any of it; not to be so, prickly or worse!

He turned the corner in the corridor and was gone.

I knew we weren't ready for marriage in the Autumn but I felt that at least we might be… what is the word? _Okay_ with it when I came back carrying our child.

The bright and cheery surroundings of my classroom might as well been grays and blacks just then, all draped in sackcloth and ashes, for it hurts when your heart breaks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2** **– How the fish swims**

The kids in the school yard were playing at the skipping game with a jump rope, singing the song I learned before I was in First Form.

" _One, two, three, four,_

 _What's the fisherman looking for?_

 _Red fish swims straighter,_

 _He's a fighter!_

 _Green fish all sideways,_

 _Only on Fridays!_

 _Yellow fish upside down,_

 _Acts like a clown!_

 _Blue fish goes upstream,_

 _She's not all she seems!"_

Their piping voices giggled as they finished the verse and started counting the number of times the rope went around.

I sighed. Yes, just like the blue fish, that was me. Not _all_ I seemed. Well, perhaps I was more than before with adding a stone and a half to my weight. That was different.

Even Martin had moved on with his new lady friend, leaving me well behind. I left the village, but I came back, and expected… another sigh. I suppose I thought things would be… better somehow. Yet I did tell him I did love him, but couldn't marry him; he'd make me unhappy. I wasn't exactly jumping for joy though.

"Penny for 'em?" Penny asked me. We were minding the kids on the school yard after lunch.

"Uhm, nothing really."

She winked at me. "Whatever you say. How's livin' down at the pub?"

"Fine," I lied. Living there _was_ awkward, _and_ noisy, and _not cheap_. I changed my mind and told the truth. "No, it's not; not at all."

"Ah. I wish I could help, I do. But with Audrey comin' back from Uni and with Charlie on leave from the Marines." Penny had got married at a young age so her children were grown up.

"I'll manage." A kickball flew too close, so I grabbed it. " _This_ lot though," I muttered. "Have a care! Mrs. Cairns and I are standing _right_ here. Are we invisible?"

The ball players laughed. At least they could hear us if not act like we were around.

Penny laughed. "Wait until you got one of your own." She grinned. "Outside to care for."

The sandwich I ate gave me heartburn, my haemerroids were sore again, and my feet felt fat, along with the rest of me. "Can't come along soon enough."

"How long then?"

I tossed the ball back to the players. "Be careful, right?"

"Yes Miss Glasson! Sorry!" Timmy Anders answered.

Penny prodded again, "Louisa how long is it?"

"About eleven weeks. I hate counting weeks though. We spend our life thinking in different units. Years, months, and weeks." I looked down at my belly which felt bigger today than yesterday, or the day before. Looked bigger as well. Damn. "Be glad when it's over."

"Bein' preggers? Oh my dear, it never stops bein' a mum. You wait until she's up all the night cryin'! You'll wish then she was back inside!"

I rolled my eyes at her. "That's not what I meant."

She patted my arm. "I know." She looked at the gate at the street. "There he is."

"Who?" I glanced up and there stood Martin, holding his medical case, but when he saw me looking his way, his head whipped around and he nearly ran off.

"Back ta surgery, quick as a bunny, that one." Penny took my elbow. "You two…"

"It's fine." I squeezed my eyes tightly then blinked rapidly. Just keep telling yourself that Louisa; keep trying to move on. What did you tell martin? 'It's fine Martin. Not your problem?'

She shook her head. "No, luv, it's not, so don't you go playin' that game. Not with yourself specially."

I'd only known Penny since last a year, for I'd hired her a term and half back, but she was solid. Older, married, three kids, and a good teacher. Not quite a friend, but, yes I was willing to listen to her.

"So you say I'm playing a head game?"

She nodded and then whispered. "That look – you – him. There's sumthin' in there gal. Still."

Right then the sumthin' kicked me hard. "Right," I answered. I checked my watch. "Play time is done. Come on, now! Back inside."

A chorus of groans came from the kids, for who could blame them? Why would anyone want to go inside on such a glorious day as today? They sky was blue, the weather fare and warm. But the students trooped inside as I checked the grounds for wayward jumpers, shoes (you never knew), or left behind play things. As I walked along the wall, I look across the harbor and saw Martin reach his surgery, stop at the door, turn and stare right at the school. His face was far too small to tell what expression was on it, but it likely matched mine. Sad, must be.

Mr. Strain sneered as we went inside. "Miss Glasson?"

"Yes, Mr. Strain?"

He sternly watched as the kids trooped past. "I hear you will be away this afternoon."

"Yes, best I could do on short notice. I have to go into Truro for a checkup. Sorry. I did put a note in your box yesterday."

He blew air out of his nose and waved a finger. "Really? Today?"

"Yes, sorry."

He shook his head, began to say something, and then smiled. "Right, well, best of luck. Have a good report."

The way his manner switched from one extreme to the other tired me out. I watched as he scurried down the hall, looking high and low. Not your lookout Louisa, but he is strange.

I got the kids settled with the temp teacher, then took my hand bag and cardy, and leaving school went down the hill.

I'd mentioned to Joan Norton I had an appointment and she volunteered to be my driver. I protested but it saved long bus rides or an expensive taxi. I was standing on the Platt waiting for Joan when I heard Martin's voice.

"Hullo."

"Oh, hello, Martin."

"What's that you are eating?"

I had bought a bag of sweets. "Jelly Babies. I fancied one."

Martin wrinkled his hose. "Useless calories and at your age it will be very hard to shift excess weight after the baby is born."

I stopped eating the one in my hand, guiltily swallowed what was in my mouth and dropped the rest back in the sack. "Oh. Thanks for that."

"How are you? The job? Everything… uhm, fine?"

"I'm fine, but not Mister Creepy. He's odd."

"Mr. Strain?"

"Yes, skulking about, and always eaves dropping."

"Has he done anything to you?"

"No. No. _Why_? Have you seen him as a patient?"

Martin snapped his lips together. "I can't discuss it. Has he done _anything_ … threatening to you… around you?"

I shook my head. "No, but he is odd. He was talking to me and then his arm went up," I demonstrated, "and then he reached up with his other hand and pulled it down."

Martin looked pained. "Louisa, if… he, uhm… does… anything…"

Joan's old truck clattered to a stop behind Martin and he turned. "Be with you in a minute, Aunt Joan."

She shook her head. "No Martin, I don't need you. I've come for Louisa. Hello Louisa."

"Hi, Joan!" I told her happily then walked up to her truck. I told him, "Joan is taking me to my doctor's appointment in Truro."

"Shouldn't I… take you?" He nearly whispered.

"No, no, it's fine, Martin. But thanks." I got into the truck and belted the harness around my rotundity. Buddy, Joan's dog, nuzzled my hand as I did so.

Joan smiled at me. "You are radiant."

"Don't feel very radiant, just fat."

Joan put the truck into gear. "Bye Marty," she said to her nephew out her open window then started to drive. "He actually offered to drive you?"

I smiled at Martin where he stood looking a bit forlorn. "He did, yes."

"Wonders will never cease," she muttered. "Do you want him to?"

I gave him a little wave and he barely nodded in reply.

 _Blue fish goes upstream,_

 _She's not all she seems!_ the kid's song ended.

Like the she fish, neither was I; not all I seemed to be.

Did I want Martin to be involved? I told him not. Not his problem – _exact_ words.

I glanced back over my shoulder and for as large a man as Martin was, he looked very small right then, shrunken somehow. The baby kicked me just then, reminding me it was getting bigger and bigger.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Adrift**

"So, how are things; the baby, you, work? How's that Mr. Strain treating you?" Joan jerked the wheel to send the car around a divot on the road. "Sorry. Damn the Council for they need to fix these lanes!"

Buddy had bounced against me from the jolt and I didn't mind, but Joan's driving seemed a little erratic. "I'm fine. Could use more sleep though."

"Baby keeping you up? I recall my friends saying they couldn't sleep when they were pregnant." She sniffed. "Always wanted to – have a child – you know. I'd have been proud to be kept awake."

"No, just noisy at the pub. Some late-nighters get pretty loud right up 'til closing." I rubbed Buddy's ears. "I guessed you wanted children, but…"

"But were too polite to ask," she grunted. "Thanks for that. Phil and I tried ever so long but nothing. We didn't have all the fancy help that couples can get nowadays." She sighed. "Truth is after a while… we…" she paused. "Well no use crying over spilled milk."

"I'm sorry."

She turned her head and smiled. "No problem. All so long ago. But we grew... _apart_ … and then my husband got ill. Let me tell you motor neuron disease isn't pretty. That's when I got rid of Phil's shotguns. I was afraid he'd shoot himself."

"How awful! I'd no idea."

"You were away at school. Not to speak ill of the dead but it wasn't pretty at the end and Phil was never an easy patient."

"Oh."

She cast her blue eyes at me, and some of those blue eye genes that might be in my baby right now. "London? Wasn't what you expected?"

" _No_ , I mean, I wanted to have my baby _here_." I stopped myself. "That's part of it."

"And I suppose my nephew was less than charming the other night."

What to tell her? "He was… occupied."

She grunted. "He wasn't too occupied to ask you to marry though."

My turn to sigh. "I wouldn't have made him happy."

"Just like London as well?"

"My job there didn't turn out the way I _might_ have hoped." I didn't want to go into the gory details.*

"And no friends to speak of."

"Oh I made one or two." Several actually, from our sweet secretary Audrey Pickles and her husband, to Jimmy Spencer the school custodian, plus a few teachers… "But it was hard yes." Along with Will Baker who wanted to be more than just a friend.

We drove for a mile or so in silence. " _And_ you were going to have a baby," Joan commented.

Buddy licked my hand. "Yes." I rubbed his head. "You are a good boy!"

Joan nodded at me. "I can imagine quite a number of reasons why you didn't call Martin with that information."

I bit my lip. "Yes. It wasn't planned. I didn't…" I had to take a breath and blink my eyes rapidly for they teared up. "I didn't _trap_ him." That was a horrible week. I knew about the baby and I couldn't bring myself to call him.

She nodded. "I didn't say that you did." Her liver-spotted hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Martin being Martin he scares me sometimes so I can't imagine there would have been any good way to tell him."

"Joan you have to believe me! It… just… happened. Not in anyone's plan at all!"

She laughed. "My word, Louisa, I _know_ how babies get started. It's not like the piskies did it!"

That set me to laughing. I'd heard a young girl or two claim it was the Cornish faeries that gave her a baby.

"And if it was a piskie then he was six-three with big ears!" she wise-cracked.

I put a hand protectively over my ballooning belly. "Oh Joan this is Martin's baby and no other."

She raised her eyebrows. "You won't hear nasty gossip from me, girl. I know it's Martin's!"

A lot of nights we were together; just a month really and then things went off the rails. "But we _did_ use precautions; honest. It's not like I used him for a sperm donor, Joan."

She shook her head. "I'm sure tongues are wagging back in the village, but none of my business, or theirs," she threw head backwards towards the village miles behind.

I got upset then. "It just _happened_! I'm sure your nephew could give you a long list of reasons why it happened! Not _every_ means of contraception is totally effective… and besides…"

She stopped me by holding up her hand. "Stop. I _don't_ need a lecture. How about you are a _beautiful_ woman Louisa? And he loved you _well enough_ to share that part of himself? He treats most folk atrociously. He wasn't like that when he was little, but he changed and I blame my terrible brother and that witch his wife for treating the boy so awfully." She shook her head. "If only I had been strong enough to do something about it then. But… when I tried…" Her words cut off. "I'm sorry Louisa I can't talk about it rationally. But my brother hurt me terribly and poor Martin doubly so." She sniffed. "Maybe ten times worse than he did me."

"Joan?" I put a hand on her elbow. "What _are_ you trying to say?"

Sher looked away so I couldn't see her face. "Don't mind me, girl. Water under the bridge. Nothing for it now."

Buddy woofed as we passed a wild pony on the moor. There wasn't a tree for miles, but the wild horses scarpered all over the fields, free and wild, taking shelter behind boulders or hedges, or even ancient stone walls. They were wild and free, never to be penned up.

I got poked by a foot or elbow down there. Sorry little fellow, I thought to my baby, sorry you're not free yet. Soon though. A road sign told me we were still twenty miles from Truro and I sighed.

Joan asked, "Doing alright?"

"Fine." I mused over what Joan had said. Something had happened way back which had hurt Joan and Martin; something to do with his father. "Your brother?"

" _Christopher_ is that bastard's name and there is not a nastier man in the country." She coughed. "Martin's mum Margaret is worse in my opinion. Pray you never have to deal with those two."

"They live in Portugal?"

Joan sneered, "And good riddance."

How to reply to that sort of statement?

"What did Martin say to you?" Joan asked.

"Hm?"

"When you arrived in the village the other night? I tried to put the fear of God into him – reminded him of his responsibilities – both to you and his child."

"So you _know_ I went to see him?"

"Good Lord, of course I do. Every window has eyes in Portwenn, you know that."

Worse than I thought. What to say to the aunt of my former fiancé? "He was _occupied_ as I said; busy. I told him, well more showed him, that I was… we were…"

"Going to have a baby. Go on."

My turn to roll my eyes. "Martin was… well… he was…"

"Humph. As bad as that?"

"Too busy to talk really." I sighed at her. "Yeah. But he's fine with it. Told him I didn't expect anything from him." What I was not about to say was that I expected, more hoped actually, for more. Like a room for the night or maybe two. I didn't expect to be invited into his bed of course. So far I'd put off calling Audrey to have my things shipped down until I had a house to live in.

She looked at me suspiciously. " _Really_."

"Yes, really." I started to chew my lip. Perhaps I ought to have let him drive me into Truro? He had seemed willing.

A small group of horses were running up a hill off in the distance; going where they liked.

The baby stretched or something and I felt sad for it for her mum felt quite hemmed in. No, that wasn't it.

I felt the opposite; adrift somehow. No home, no family, a job barely and working in my old school. I'd told Mr. Strain I'd picked up right where I'd left off, but it wasn't true. I'd taken about five steps back and was having a baby to boot.

Just now I felt adrift with no firm ground at all beneath my feet. The running horses disappeared over a low rise on my left. They _knew_ where _they_ were going, unlike the very expectant and sad woman who watched them.

Buddy put his head on my lap (where it used to be at least) and let out a damp doggy sigh. I petted his furry head and felt that somehow he understood.

 *** See my story "Aloha" to read of some of her time in London.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – Message in a bottle**

As we jolted over the rough macadam road, I thought about the letter I had posted this morning. Perhaps it was a mistake to send it. Too late now for the Royal Post had it. I'd dithered back and forth last evening and finally got my nerve up to sit down with Biro and paper and began to write.

 _Mum,_

Not dear Mum, or Mother, or even Eleanor. No, not much dear between us, but I thought she ought to know.

 _I left Portwenn for a while; moved up to London actually, for five months. I got a new teaching job there but it didn't work out._

No need to list out the gritty details of the school there, the horrible Head Teacher, and… the baby kicked. I rubbed my bump soothingly. "Yes you were there as well," I told her. Funny for sometimes it was just 'the baby' but other times I felt distinctly that I was carrying a girl or even a boy. Tonight I thought it is a girl. I'd have to start thinking about names soon.

 _But now I'm back in the village. Teaching again at Portwenn Primary._

I stopped my scribbling. No sense in going into how I had been Head, but quit, and was now a lowly toiler in the system of my old school.

"And Louisa dear girl, if you'd married Martin in the Fall, none of this would have happened," I muttered. "I mean you'd be married and having a baby. And those teenagers wouldn't snicker, now would they?" I had to wipe my eye.

I shook my head. "But did you tell him ahead of time Louisa? No you didn't. Too scared to. Coward, that's what you are." I rubbed my bump for comfort. "But he didn't call you either."

Too many cold and lonely nights I'd sat in my cramped bed sit staring at my mobile, finger poised over the quick dial which would have rung him up. I pushed those thoughts away – they were too sad then and now.

 _So I'm back with the little kids teaching math, reading, writing, and science._

I wrinkled my nose as I thought about my overseer Mr. Strain. An odd man; sometimes he was jovial or mean, but in a flash he could flip 180 degrees opposite. Funny brain wiring, must be - the way he was skulking about; seemingly always outside my door. Creepy little man.

 _I…_

I stopped, took a deep breath and went on.

… _am going to have a baby, mum. I was gonna get married to our village GP back in October. His name is Martin Ellingham. But we both felt…_

Another sigh,

… _that if we got married it wouldn't work out._

I had to pause again. Much as you mum and dad _didn't_ work out. Right. Javier had a lot to do with it, but I knew their marriage was a shambles from the start. The yelling, the fighting and drinking, and then the moments they'd be all lovey-dovey, until the next blowup. Mum and dad were prime examples of two people who should not have gotten together. But if they hadn't gotten together, where would I be? "Not here, clearly," I barked aloud, half in laughter half in panic.

"But mum, you ran away, while dad stayed." I sighed again. "So shame on you."

But then along came Javier with his dark good looks, tall and strong, a head taller than dad, and when he smiled I could see how mum melted. It wasn't long before she started going down to the pub without dad, and then the nights she would not come home at all.

"Well, mum, if it wasn't Javier with his Spanish good lucks it would have been somebody else." I put pen went back to paper.

 _Martin and I did not get married and I moved away._

 _The baby is his, mum, in case you wondered. He's moved on and so have I. I'll be fine here in the village. It's small and idyllic, not huge and overpowering like the big city. A perfect spot to raise kids. I've got a job_ (not the one I wanted), _and a place to stay_ (living above the **Crab and Lobster** is less than ideal) _, and I'm saving up for the baby_ (right two pounds this week). God.

Plus down here my accent is just one of the Cornish; not a country girl who was smirked at soon as I opened my mouth.

I decided to finish the note quickly.

 _The baby (no I don't know boy or girl) is due late July right after end of School term. I'll write when it comes._

 _Louisa_

Without further thought, I savagely folded the sheet into thirds, stuffed it into the envelope, sealed and addressed it.

 _Eleanor Glasson_

 _1387 Calle Badajoz_

 _21440 Lepe_

 _Espana_

In the Post Office this morning I paid Jon for the postage.

"Anything else?" he asked me, but sniffed when he saw the name. "Yer mum. How is Eleanor?"

"Can't say," I answered, trying to keep my face level and calm.

He nodded. "Ah." He picked up the letter. "Shall I?"

I nodded. "Go ahead."

He slipped it into the outgoing mail bag. "Right then. She ought to get it in a few days or so."

I found I was holding my breath. "Yeah."

That's when I saw the Jelly Babies. "Can I have some of these?"

Jon smiled, the sort of smile that went from under his moustache all the way to the top of his bald head. "Sweet tooth."

I held my fingers a fraction of an inch apart. "Little bit."

Jon lifted the top off the glass jar and scooped up the candies. "These are my fav."

"Mine too."

"Full or half bag?"

I wanted the whole jar! "Just a half," I said after an inner struggle.

He smiled. "So back from Town."

"Yes."

He twisted the waxed bag closed and gave it to me. "On the house."

"No, no, I can pay!"

He smiled. "Let's call it a homecoming gift?" He was still smiling.

"Fine then."

Jon tossed his head at the mail sack. "Funny ain't it? All the way to Spain in less than a week. Wasn't that long ago we had smugglers, and pirates, the King's Men running up and down the hills trying to catch 'em. As likely pick a bottle off the beach and figure where it come from."

"A bottle?"

"You know. Shipwrecked sailors and all that. Message in a bottle, right?"

It hit me that writing to my mum was a bit like that. A call across the waves and years. Too many years. "I'm not…" I glanced at the clock on the wall. "Sorry. School! Gotta run!"

"Bye, Miss Glasson," Jon called as I waddled away. Yes I was larger today.

"Message in a bottle indeed, " I muttered under my breath as I left the Post Office.

But Jon was right. I _had_ called to her for help in so many words. But what did I expect her to do or say after all this time?

"Get a grip, girl," I told myself under my breath.

But riding to hospital with Joan I wished I would have written the letter differently, or maybe not at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – Relationship**

We got to hospital and seeing the sign for the OB entrance, Joan pulled to the curb. "I've got to go across the way to see someone about some furniture. Won't take long…"

"Buying?"

"Not exactly, no," she muttered sheepishly. "But it won't take long. I'll be back inside forty-five minutes I think. Do you think that will be enough time?"

"Gosh Joan I don't know. Maybe. I expect they'll take longer than that. First visit, all that."

She nodded. "Good. Right."

"How will I… find you?"

"I'll park and come inside. That alright?"

I opened the door and stepped out. "Thanks awfully Joan. So kind."

She beamed at me. "Least I could do."

I waddled into the building, following the signs until I came to the obvious spot; a waiting room filled with expectant mums and their partners, plus a few smaller children either toddling about or babes in arms. I took a deep breath and went in.

A happy looking young clerk smiled at me and her friendly manner put me at ease. "Hello," she smiled.

"Hi. Uhm, I'm Louisa Glasson? I have a twelve-thirty appointment."

She peered at her computer screen. "I see your time just here. Running a little behind today, but we'll get you in quick as we can." She picked up a clipboard along with a pen and gave it to me. "Sorry. Here are some forms. If you could fill these out? We've got your records; this is just for information update and so forth. We've got a restroom down the way, but don't use it yet. They usually want a sample."

Almost like being in Martin's office when he asked for a urine sample, but he was always skittish when I had to go to him for medical help. But… we had been… the baby kicked once … together, _obviously_. Clearly I was fertile and so was he.

I'd once answered Bert that wanted kids. So I was gonna have one; this one at least.

I slowly sat down and went to work on the form. _Address:_ Crab  & Lobster, The Platt, Portwenn. _Phone_ : I wrote down my cell number. _Alternate contact number_ : I added my school number. _Emergency contact – name and number_ : The next spot read _Relationship_.

My Dad is in prison and my Mum is in Spain. I doubted very much that Dad would be able to respond if I had a problem and I knew Mum wouldn't. I hadn't seen her in nearly twenty years, just the occasional note or very infrequent call.

I hesitated, nibbling on the barrel of the Biro. I knew I should put down Martin's name, but I held back. Joan Norton? Joan was a friend, well nearly more than a friend, considering I was carrying her great-nephew.

There was no one else.

Shaking my head I moved on leaving those boxes blank.

Going down the form there was a brief medical questionnaire about family history, diet, lifestyle, etc.

 _Do you drink?_ The form asked. Not for four-and-a-half months I thought, not since the penny dropped and I bought a home pregnancy test.

 _Are you using drugs now or have in the past?_ I wrote a firm no to that one.

The baby kicked me and I had to wee. I squirmed in my seat, trying not to feel conspicuous. Now you're being silly, Louisa, I thought. You're in the OB clinic, and you're in a room of pregnant mums and you are pregnant. I found myself inspecting the other women; all younger than me.

Some were further along in pregnancy. One poor girl looked about ready to drop her baby right any minute; her dress (and skin most likely) ready to explode. Poor thing, but I was envious of her rounded and ample baps.

I discretely looked down at mine. Martin hadn't complained about them and I was sure that when the time came they could do the job – for the baby.

But on average the mums were in all stages from huge to not showing at all. So at six months I fit in. My bare ring finger worried me and that was silly I knew. No rule says you _have_ to be married to have a baby; I'd corrected Mr. Strain on that very point.

So then Louisa, went my internal monologue, why does that bother you? But you did cringe when the Portwenn girl pack laughed when they saw your belly sticking out. Embarrassment, embarrassment Louisa. You know that. Was gonna get married and didn't then turned up back in the village pregnant.

I sighed for that had hurt – that moment when the girls snickered. So… convention, or lack of, was the reason.

But I wasn't conventional and never had been. I wasn't the only child in the village to have parents who were separated, but at least they were married when I was born. I was just the girl whose mum ran off to Spain and my dad was shifty. So no; _not_ conventional in many ways.

I could not but help look around the room at the other mums' partners, all male, other than two women, the pregnant one young and the other old – clearly a daughter and her mum from their nearly identical face, hair, and eyes.

I sighed for I was the only one sitting there all alone. The baby kicked me and so I put a hand down there and rubbed the spot. Have a care little one, that almost made me wee, and I did have to wee.

A door down the hallway opened and a nurse came my way, dressed in a light blue nurse's gown. "Louisa Glasson?" she called. She had reddish-blonde hair pinned up the back of her head and light eyes.

I turned back to the first page of the form and firmly wrote Martin's name and number in the missing blanks. Then in the other blank that read _Relationship_ : Father of my child

I held up my hand and caught the nurse's eye. "That's me."

The nurse smiled back at me warmly. "Hello. Come with me please."

 **Author's note:**

 **Sorry that I left you hanging with this story. Real Life and my other hobby – building scale models – got in the way of writing.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – Edith**

The office visit with Cara Welles, the midwife, was going well I thought. They weighed me (I've gained a stone and a quarter? Good Lord), they didn't find anything wrong with the urine sample I gave, but the tiny drops of blood she took from my finger gave some indication of a return of my anemia.

"Been taking the vitamins they gave me in London," I told the midwife. "Faithfully. Eating plenty of veg and fruit as well."

The midwife smiled. "Blood can vary day-to-day. We'll recheck it next week when we do your ultrasound."

"But I do have a history of anemia."

She flipped back to a sheet on the form and made a not in the margin. "I'll access your records and look that up – make a timeline. Don't be concerned, until we know more. Nausea?"

"I do feel pretty queasy in the morning until I have some breakfast."

"But you don't actually throw up."

"Not since the first six weeks no."

A door opened behind me and someone walked in; a women from the sound of her hard shoes.

Cara nodded to whoever was behind me and then she asked me, "Will the father be attending some or all of our sessions?"

I sighed and shook my head. "No." Not his problem I told him. Oh no, not all, Martin, but I'm the one getting fat and stretch marks!

"I see," the midwife muttered.

I was already cross and that made me more so. There that was again. God. "Wot's that mean really? _I see_?" Once more I had to wonder about those two simple words.

A woman's voice behind me reacted and her cultured tones told me she was from London. "It's for research. Will he cooperate?"

"Wot research?" I asked and twisted in my chair and then I saw someone I'd hoped _not_ to see again.

 _Edith_ was standing there, her back to me, the Edith from Martin's house, orange hair and all. Snazzy spangled shoes and black-and-white outfit as well; pricey all of it. She looked every bit the poised and controlled professional which she seemed to be. The slim trousers perfectly fitted her long legs without showing too much yet just enough to hint what she had and her blouse as well. Damn.

Then she continued speaking in a lecturing tone. "The Incidence and Variety of Defective Births to Geriatric Parents," came from her.

I could see the capital letters in the air; like a medical paper. Yesss. So she was just like Martin! Geriatric patient! How dare she? I wasn't elderly! Was I? I mean I wasn't totally past my sell by date yet! Being preggers proved it! But I was thirty-seven.

She turned around to face me and when she saw me her face showed surprise. " _Oh_."

"Hullo again," I answered her, trying to keep my voice level. From the front she was beautiful in a sharp-edged way. In comparison I felt fat and undesirable, and wearing a burlap bag to boot.

I didn't like her any better today than the other night. And me a geriatric mum? Well she can put that where the sun don't shine!

Edith gave me an empty grin. "Hello," she said and then she addressed Cara. " _No_ – _he_ won't cooperate." She turned her back to me, fiddled with some papers and then flew from the room.

Lovely! Bloody great all around, I thought. The baby kicked my bladder and made me wince. I'd just wee'd not ten minutes ago and it seemed I was full again. I rubbed my belly both to calm the baby and myself. Edith knew about Martin; understood that _he'd_ want nothing to do with my baby.

"Kicks?" Cara asked.

"Sometimes."

"You know the foetus can react to her mother's mood? You seem tense. Anything amiss?"

Amiss? Oh no, Cara, not a blessed thing. I felt a headache start.

"No, no," I muttered to her. Just that my ex-fiance's new _girlfriend_ is working here at the hospital – and in the OB department! Bloody fookin' marvelous.

Well, Louisa what did you expect? That Martin would be all mopey and hangdog since you left? Although with Martin how could you tell? His moods swung from yelling to icy tight-lipped silence, except for when we… I shook my head as a memory of a very amorous and loving Martin with me in bed just got overlayed by the smiling face of Edith. I shook my head to make it go away.

"Fine, actually," I told Cara. "Much longer?"

She turned back to the form. "Are you staying at your current address for the duration of your pregnancy?"

I rubbed my aching head. Edith worked here? At my hospital? I didn't like her any better now than I did seeing her parked at Martin's kitchen table. Plus today she set my teeth on edge even more. The surprise I suppose.

"Does she, uhm… Edith?"

"Dr. Montgomery. What about her?"

I shook my head. "Never mind. My address? Well just now… at the moment… recently…" My fingers started to fiddle with my hair. This woman had no interest in my accommodations over the pub, the fact I'd just barely been paying my bills… or that things were not as I desired. "If it changes I'll let you know."

My belly felt tight for a moment and I must have reacted. "Cramp."

Cara smiled at me. "Would you like some water?"

I nodded and sipped from the cup she brought me.

Cara told me, "Not too early for Braxton Hicks contractions. Sometimes they're caused by the mother being a wee bit dehydrated. When you feel them coming on drink a glass of water."

"That help?"

"Not with the one you are feeling right then. But later ones perhaps."

Wonderful. So Martin's new girlfriend is involved in OB care here in Truro and now I had to drink even _more_ water. _Lovely_. Even more time to spend in my day having to locate a loo.

I tried to calm down, but the memory of Edith's icy green eyes looking me over burned like acid.

Cara smiled. "Let's finish the forms, yes?"

"Okay." I put down the empty cup. "The sooner the better." I needed the loo and quite soon.

The baby kicked me hard. Right, I thought to it. Calm now, little girl, or boy, let's just get through this day.

 **Author's note:**

 **Stone – A unit of weight in the UK, often used to weigh people, animals, and goods. One stone is 14 lbs, so a stone and a quarter is 17.5 lbs or 7.94 kg.**

 **Braxton Hicks – Rhythmic contractions of a pregnant uterus.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 - Alone**

Beset by more questions about life style and medical history, all of which merely confirmed what I had written down, plus needing the toilet in increasing urgency, I struggled along.

The midwife lifted her head from her notes. "Any questions?"

I noticed she wore no wedding band, which didn't prove anything. "You have kids?"

"A step-daughter. My husband's with his ex-girlfriend," she answered softly. "She's seven. My husband and I have tried…" she stopped and grinned ruefully, I noticed. "None of my own, no; not uhm... quite yet."

I bit off the automatic, 'I see,' which was the usual answer. She looked at me with clear yet liquid eyes. So the childless woman helps other women have their babies. I touched her hand briefly. "You never know." I looked down at my ballooning belly and shrugged. "Not quite planned, this one. Bit of a surprise."

Cara nodded as she flipped back through her papers. "Your first."

I tossed my head towards the door where Edith Montgomery had disappeared. " _She_ called _me_ a geriatric parent?"

"We used to say 'elderly primagravida,' in your case; expectant for the first time, and your partner is over forty you said."

I sighed. "Yes, Martin is forty-four, and he's not my partner, that is…" I had to gulp. "His first as well. We were engaged but we didn't marry."

"Your baby's father then. Yet based on the criteria, yes elderly, that is over thirty-five; both of you."

I laughed. "Not ready for a cane yet!"

She laughed with me. "No, but the risk of more difficult courses of reproduction and genetic disorders rises with advancing age."

Now I felt like I ought to have a cane. Unbidden I began to fiddle with my ponytail. "Advancing age?"

Cara grinned at me and ducked her head. "Sorry. I don't make up the terms."

I sighed. "They needed a label, that it? I know something about doctors; not a patient but a _case_ and so forth. Not Mr. Burroughs but _the_ heart attack." I thought of the ways that Martin treated his patients, especially when fresh down from Town. He really was a fish out of water back then, but had he improved? _Somewhat_ … perhaps.

"Yes," Cara replied. "We will do a complete ultrasound of your baby next week. We'll look at the baby's heart, spine, brain, measure size and weight."

I'd had a scan like that in January. "In London the clinic ran me through one of those. Looked for heart defects and spina bifida. Plus a lot of other tests. But my baby is fine."

"That's the usual yes. But we will repeat them." She flipped through the papers on her clipboard. She took a long breath. "Miss Glasson, this is a question I must ask. You are an older mother, employed, but have no permanent home, your partner is not involved…"

"He's not my partner, we just…" I had to squeeze my eyes closed as I gritted my teeth. "We were engaged and called it off. But… as you can see, we _did_ make a baby."

Cara smiled. "Yes, you have. But here's the question which we ask all our mums in your circumstance - will you be keeping your baby?"

What the hell? "What's that?" A warm flush ran down my body starting at my face.

"You said your lodgings are over a pub and you are on your own. Those are the sorts of indicators which we have to ask about in your case."

I felt my face grow hotter. "My _case_?" I laughed bitterly then leaned forward my chest pressed into the precious burden inside me. I snapped at her, "Listen! This is _my_ baby and I'll _have it_ on my own! I don't need a _partner_ or _husband_ to have a baby, or raise it…"

She held up her hands in surrender. "Miss Glasson, please don't take offense."

"Offense? Ha! Not at all! But I _will keep my baby_. This is _my child_ no matter that his father… Martin… uhm…" My voice turned into a half-sob. "Isn't interested…" but _was_ apparently interested in that ginger-haired woman.

She turned her head away, snagged a tissue from a box and gave it to me. "Miss Glasson, I wasn't suggesting anything!"

I snatched the tissue from her and dabbed at my too damp eyes. I took a couple of shuddering breaths.

Cara looked at me sharply. "Are you alright?"

What I told Martin fluttered through my head. 'Thirty-seven, single, pregnant, in a bedsit, _alone_ …' I squared my shoulders. "Of course. Have to be, now don't I?" I snapped.

She looked at me sadly - the childless midwife who dealt with many mums and babies. "I'm sure you will do fine," she said slowly and distinctly. "Some women might not be able to care for a child or have the desire, no matter their ages. I had to ask for records." She ticked a box somewhere on the forms. "We have resources for those who need or wish to give up their babies."

Care for a child. I was starting to understand that phrase. I'd been looking at a catalog of baby things; all the things I'd have to buy - new or otherwise. A cot and a pram, baby clothes, nappies, toys, blankets, and more baby books - both to read to the baby and on care of. I sighed. It will be tough, have to pinch pennies and pounds but I will do it! But give up their babies? Their own children? I shook my head for those other mothers. "Poor mums and babies as well."

"Need a moment?"

My head rocked back as I told her fiercely, "I'm fine." I felt a little ticked off but it was an important question. 'Keeping your baby?' Until my dying day my dear midwife; until my last breath.

Cara grinned. "I… I'll share with you that my husband and I are trying for a baby; already said that, and… I think we _might_ be. I mean I'm late. Haven't taken the test yet. Ought to."

I took her hands and squeezed them. "Good news then!"

She ducked her head. "I don't know why I told you. Uhm, why I told you, that is."

I smiled at her as I felt the desperate way she squeezed my fingers. "You had to tell somebody. I hope it's true."

Cara smiled. "I hope so too." Her hand came towards me and I let her touch my belly again, which she'd already measured the girth and height of. The baby kicked right then under her cool hand and she almost cried aloud, I could hear as she barely held it back. She used a tissue herself and we laughed together.

Two mums, one expecting, most definitely, and other perhaps, united in a way that men never could be. United, I mused, but for one thing. She had a husband and I… I told Martin I'd go it alone.

'Not your problem,' I told him. What was I thinking? But there was Edith and… oh bloody hell why keep going over it?

But _alone_ … that word festered… but it was the truth. But I could do it - had to. I smiled reassuringly at Cara Welles, whose eyes shone brightly in that way that only women who were expecting could.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 – First Love?**

At long last the detailed Q&A was ended so I could go use the loo and leave. Cara walked with me out of the clinic area.

"Miss Glasson, I asked the lab for another looksee at your blood iron levels. Perhaps a bit low, as your history tells. Now we know we can keep an eye on it."

Just then Edith approached us. "Everything alright?" she asked.

Cara turned to Edith and told her, "Everything seems right." She looked back at me. "Ultrasound next week. See you Tuesday," she finished saying then walked away before I could tell her good luck with her own test; the test she was going to administer to herself.

I recalled that moment the plus-sign appeared in the EPT window and how I cried for a very long time in the London school loo.

Well good luck, Midwife Cara, I mentally sent her way. Edith was peering at me, so I had to speak to her. "So you're a doctor."

Edith grinned. "I'm doing research next door at the Zephran Clinic. The hospital gives us staff, so I do obstetrics one day a week."

Just my luck, I mused.

Edith stared at my vast belly then up at my face, nearly smirking. "Why did you wait six months until coming back to Ellingham's village?"

That got me two ways. She called him _Ellingham_ , not Doctor, or Martin, but last name only. I only answered about the second way she got under my skin. "It's _not_ actually _Martin's_ village."

She shook her head. " _Your_ village. Cold feet about going it alone?"

If I had an icepick in my handbag she'd have died right there. Heart or eye? Hm, let me think.

Which would hurt more? Her skinny chest and nonexistent baps would provide little protection and would be slower than into the eye and brain. _Heart_ then. I wanted her to feel pain and I wanted it to last.

I took a deep breath. "Not sure it's _any_ of your business," I spat out. "I've lived in Portwenn all my life; my home. And I've come home to have my baby… on my _own_. Got it?" I turned to go but she caught up, so I had to stop and face her.

"You can see how I got the wrong end of the stick," she told me half-heartedly.

"Not really. Is it because I've got a country accent?" It was the same old story just like up in London. Poor little country bumpkin; poor little country girl.

Suddenly Edith's eye's swung to the side and flew wide in shock. "Oh my God! Auntie Jill! Do… you remember me? Edith Montgomery."

I found Joan standing by my elbow.

"Yes," Joan told her in a cold way.

Edith glanced to me then back to Joan. "And you two know each other."

"I gave Louisa a lift. What are you doing here?" Joan said to her the way she might address something nasty stuck on her shoe.

Edith smiled at her. "Research."

"So when did you two meet?" I asked trying to sound innocent.

Edith grinned. "Ellingham and I were in medical school."

I know my mouth fell open so I closed it quickly. Bloody hell! The two of them in medical school together? And she just happened to be at his house when I and my pregnant self arrived. I had planned on asking Martin for a night's stay, but her comment that she was a friend of his as well… There went my plans – so off to the pub I went, which I was still paying too dearly for. Damn.

Joan asked me. "All set?"

"Yeah," I grunted for all I wanted was to get away from Edith; Dr. Edith Montgomery. In medical school with Martin. More of the mystery of Martin revealed; another cut into his onion.

Edith next said, "Nice to meet you again Louisa… and you too Jill!"

Joan snapped at her, "Bye," so we got out of there.

I marched down the corridor, or at least as much as a 26-week expectant woman could while Joan followed along. When I glanced back at her she was angry, as told by her tight-lipped mouth and her glaring eyes. She caught up with me at the exit doors and shook her head.

"You okay Joan?" I asked.

"Fine," she said but she wasn't.

"So you met her when Martin was a student?"

"Yes." Waves of disapproval radiated from her.

"Did he bring her down to Cornwall then?"

"He did, yes."

I opened the truck door and began to hoist myself onto the seat.

"Oh," was all I could say, struck mute by it all.

Joan shoved Buddy aside, belted herself in and started the truck.

 _Ellingham's village._ Those words blasted through my brain. So when I found her in Martin's kitchen and told her I was a friend of his, she'd replied, "Me too."

A friend? Just a _friend_ or a whole lot more? No Louisa, a whole lot more – bunches of more – from her glam shoes to the top of her head she was probably all over him. Probably ordered him about and he followed every order dumbly – a sheep to the slaughter. I sighed.

Joan glanced at me. "Penny for 'em?"

I shook my head not trusting my words; fearful of what might come out.

Joan nodded as we left town heading back to the village.

Edith was a doctor – an OB; a fertility expert. I wondered if she was married or had been in the past? I didn't see a ring on her hand but that didn't mean anything. But Martin had never mentioned her, at least not to me. Well why would he Louisa? Hm? You certainly didn't tell Martin that you and Danny had once been a couple. Well a few dates mostly, and the off snog on the Coastal Path. Danny… Danny had betrayed your trust Louisa and how with Deirdre.

Buddy stuck his head under my trembling hand so I rubbed his ears.

Joan coughed. "Buddy can always tell you know."

"Tell wot?"

She smiled briefly. "Flustered. You."

Flustered? That was one word for it. Gob-smacked might be a better term.

As I petted the little dog's head I found myself grow a bit calmer. I had thought coming back to Portwenn was the right thing to do. My village, my home, my school. No Louisa, it's NOT _your_ school. It belongs to the village and Mr. Creepy.

So Martin is cozying up to his old girlfriend? I glanced over at Joan who drove with an intense expression. The way that Joan had cut Edith off spelled volumes. She didn't like her either. Well what was to like? And that crack from Edith to me about 'going it alone' had almost made my head explode.

Well bloody hell _yes_ , Dr. Montgomery, because my ex-fiancé seems to have taken up with you I AM going it alone. Buddy scampered across me where my lap used to be and tried to lick my face.

"Buddy! Stop! Stop it" Joan screeched at him but I felt she wasn't really yelling at him.

"It's alright, Joan."

"Louisa, you _don't_ want his germs on your face."

I smoothed his furry head as he settled down again between me and his owner. "Oh he's fine."

"All the same," she sniffed. "Funny."

"Wot's funny?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

If she meant bumping into Edith yes it was funny, hugely hilarious. The town was far behind us now and the moor stretched all around us. The waving grass and scrubby bushes spelled home to me.

I must have sighed for Joan said, "You'll do fine, Louisa. Baby cooking along to spec?"

Cooking a baby brought up terrible images. "The baby is fine. Right on schedule. Weight's good, not that I ever imagined I'd be interested in gaining weight on a schedule."

She nodded. "Good then."

I wiggled under the seatbelt and Joan looked at me sharply so I told her, "Really, I am."

She raised her eyebrows. "I was envious of my friends – when they had their babies."

I laughed. "Envious of being fat?"

"No just having babies."

I sensed her long-held craving. "Well this is your great-nephew in there."

She smiled. "I imagine Martin was none too pleased to see you." She looked at my belly. "Like that."

"Surprised, oh yes." The look of shock which replaced surprise stung. I ought to have told him about having a baby, his baby, long before. Just showing up like that was… well Louisa, you were scared how to tell him, until it had to be seen and shown.

"Martin never did like surprises."

"Think I guessed that." A _huge_ surprise Louisa. Another bollixed up mess in the Martin Ellingham and Louisa Glasson story.

Joan tapped my elbow. "Louisa…"

"Yes?"

She looked my way and gave me a huge smile. "You'll be great."

"Great as in huge?"

"No, no! A great mum."

"Well I don't feel so great at the moment Joan."

Joan got the hint and stayed silent the rest of the way home. When she braked to a halt on the Platt I'd nibbled myself thru another ten or fifteen Jelly Babies.

Sugar was a poor remedy for what I felt. I was wondering what else Martin and Edith had studied together in school? That made an ugly image which wouldn't go away.

I looked at Joan who'd gone very quiet the last few miles. "So was Martin quite fond of her then?" I asked innocently.

Joan looked coolly at me. "I suppose he was, yes. A long time ago though."

But to me they seemed pretty chummy the night I found them in his kitchen. "Was it like a first love thing…" Joan gave me a funny sort of grin. "I'm only curious."

"He wanted to marry her," she said matter-of-factly. "She went abroad for her career instead."

Edith chose medicine over Martin? A little of the tight knot me inside loosened. She chose _work_ over him? Poor Martin… he must have been… _heart broken_. Was that why he seemed so closed off at times? It explained a lot, I thought. Well perhaps. Martin rejected by his med school sweetie. But she didn't seem very sweet to me; more like vinegar. I hated her enough more than before now that I had a good reason. Hate Louisa? You mean that? A very strong word.

The Jelly baby melted in my mouth. Yes, hate. Hate for how she had hurt him.

But Louisa, my thought went, didn't you say to yourself, _and_ to Edith, that coming back to the village had nothing to do with Martin? Just keep telling yourself that Louisa story… just keep saying it. Maybe in time even you might believe it.

Automatically another Jelly Baby got to my lips but I hardly noticed.

So did Edith want to rekindle what they had a long time back? What did they have then? But if Martin wanted to marry her… he certainly knew what he wanted. But Joan did say it was a long time ago.

The way she called him _Ellingham_ made me think that she considered him now, and then, more of a colleague. And yet my doubts swirled. Did he go for gingers then? Or was Edith a brunette really? He certainly admired my own chestnut hair… as well as other things.

If it was _his_ first love then it might explain how the vibs I felt from her might be explained. I found her cerebral, pushy, obstinate, and brusque. Oh Lord! She was like Martin in too many ways! No wonder they fell for each other in school! Or at least he did but then she rejected him.

I glanced at my watch. "Gosh!" I was late getting back to school! I popped open the belt and truck door. "Thanks so much for the lift. So much nicer than the bus."

Joan touched my hand across the cab. "Just give me a call anytime. See you."

"Bye."

My head swirling with thoughts of Edith and Martin, I labored up the hill to school.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 – Beach Time**

Going down the school hallway Sally Chadwick whipped around the corner and butted into me. Fortunately it was just a bump, nothing more.

"Oh my gosh! You okay?" she asked, horrified.

I told her I was fine. Part of having an extended waistline is something I had to get used to but I was looking forward to having the baby and getting my waistline back.

When I got to my room I was expecting to find my class busily engaged in the work I'd left them, under the tutelage of the temp, but the room was empty. I was standing there bewildered when Penny Cairns slid up to me.

"Mr. Strain took 'em to Rosscarrock Cove," she explained.

"Why?"

"Nature walk. Didn't you know?" She looked amazed at my reaction.

"Oh, no. How long they been gone?"

Penny glanced at her wristwatch. "'Bout two-ish? Should be back soon."

I nodded. "Right," I replied but it didn't _feel_ right. It felt… _odd_. Mr. Strain ought to have told me about the outing. Planned or otherwise.

I went into my room and looked around. All was in order, the desks and chairs neatly arranged, almost with military precision. I examine my desk next and the same order was there; papers line dup parallel to the desk edges, a row of pencils and pens laid out in a row, ranked by length from shortest to longest. This wasn't how I left it! I did have papers out on my desk, yes, but this type of exactness was not either my style or doing. He had been at my desk, straightening up. It wasn't a mess when I left and it certainly was neater, but still… he should have left my things alone.

Other students down the hall were making noise and I heard Mr. Colley slowly sweeping the corridor, the brush of his broom a soft swishing sound, but my empty and still room seemed to be telling me something, so I slung my brown handbag over my shoulder and left the building.

Rosscarrock Cove was not a place I'd take small children. The beach was very rock-strewn and uneven, with large flat stones laying on a flat and bumpy ledge exposed at low tide, but the area was quickly awash when the tide came in.

Legend said that two small children drowned there 'round about 1850 when collecting shells. My dad said that on stormy nights some say they can hear their cries in the surf. Just a story was the last bit; likely gulls calling was all. But against the steep cliff face the Cove always seemed a grim spot to me. So why would Mr. Strain take the children there?

It was a short walk, even for my rotund self, around the point and downhill to the cove. Looking across the low valley toward the cliff on the west side I could see Mr. Strain in his beige sport coat, walking back and forth, hands behind his back like a little general, while kids milled about trying to form up into a rough line in front of him.

From the way he moved about and the jittery movements of my class I felt unease – nearly in a panic the closer I got to them.

The feeling I got when the midwife asked if I would keep my baby hit me again; a feeling of _fierce_ defense for the helpless. The kids were only in Year Three, all young, and the way one or two hung their heads forced me to go faster.

When my shoes got the shingle beach I was moving as fast as I could with a hand on my belly to brace the swaying of it. Some of the kids were crying and sniveling, especially Charlie, one of the weepy ones.

I saw Strain messing about with the kid's shoes, as they were all barefoot, but for him. I saw him pick up a pair and brandish them in Clara's face.

"Whose are these?" I heard him shout at my kids. "Can't any of you follow instructions!" he roared.

My lungs filled. "Mr. Strain!" I called out in admonishment for he was certainly scaring the children.

My old London boss Penelope Harper was a piece a work; vain, stuck-up, dictatorial, and money grubbing, as well as devious.

Mr. Strain whirled about and when I saw the way his mouth was set, his dark eyes glowering from their sockets, I felt a tiny rush of fear. The children cowered behind him in a rough line and one or two looked my way in obvious relief.

Penelope had been very nasty and scheming, but the look Mr. Strain cast my way he was… unhinged, barking mad; totally unbalanced.

The baby jumped inside me and then I was truly frightened.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 – Child's Play**

Strain squinted at me his neck bent oddly. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I was told you brought my class to the beach."

" _You_ want _my_ job."

"No, I don't. It's yours now."

He stood up taller then straightened his jacket. "Good. Right. But…" He slowly turned and looked at the kids in apparent bewilderment. "They can't keep their shoes in a line."

"What?"

He stood up straighter. "The kids need extra training; better teaching. I had them take off their socks and shoes."

I tried to stay calm but from the hangdog way the children stood in a line bespoke volumes. "Why's that? What have you done to them?"

"Nothing. They're all perfectly fine and good children, aren't you?" he said in a simpering way. Then he wagged a finger in my face. "What _is_ the world coming to? Hm? Miss Glasson I am _very_ disappointed in _you_."

"Oh?" I sidled over towards the children and asked them, "Everything okay here? Everyone in good shape?" I noticed some of the students had tear-streaked faces. I turned back to the Head. "What's been going on?"

"Merely a little beach straightening." He smiled then winked. "Community service."

I looked at the sand, where large green stones stood proud of the ground exposed by the outgoing tide. It looked like any Cornish beach, so I took a step towards my boss. "Mr. Strain, I imagine that you are, uhm, a tad _upset_ with me, but no need to take it out on my students, is there?"

He scowled at me again and shook his head. "If you'd _only_ realize..." he stopped and bit his lip. "How _hard_ this is… look at this mess, would you? _This_ has been on my list… oh yes… a very _long list_ … had to do _something_ about it."

I inspected the kids again, some holding scrub brushes. "What's with the brushes?"

"Scrubbing the rocks, don't you see?" he said almost sheepishly. He waved his hand towards them. "All this… green… stuff! _Has_ to go!" he sniggered. "All of it. Scrub them clean, clean as _snow_ …" he cocked his head. "But they're rocks, right? Clean as rocks then! That's it!" He spread his arms wide and I backed away from him in alarm. He went on, "We must scrub all these rocks clean. All the green and dirt washed away…" Mr. Strain stepped away. "And they… you… all of you must do it." He glanced at his watch then snapped his fingers. "Get to it. Now."

I sighed. The man had misplaced his intellect somewhere. In the few days I'd been back in the village he had gotten odder and odder and even Martin must have noticed it. Their exchange in the school about missing appointments. Martin - that was it. Martin was the answer!

"Mr. Strain," I said softly, "I know you have been under tremendous strain…"

One of the kids giggled and that set Strain off in a tirade.

"No! No! NO!" he yelled. "I know what you're up to! You _and_ Doctor Ellingham! You and your… _baby_ …. you're pregnant on purpose, right? All this scheming and plotting… you'll fill the school with _your_ children, married or not! That's it! Am I right? All the little Ellingham's lined up in a row." He winked at me. "Better get busy then."

"I am _not_ pregnant on purpose. It just happened. Get a grip."

His head turned towards the sea. "Sorry, sorry. I am truly. I hear it you know. I can hear it calling my name." He nibbled on a thumbnail. "But…" he laughed, "these rocks must be scrubbed. Don't you see?"

I knew how to handle drunkards. I'd been pawed over by any number of sods who thought my baps and bum were a free offering for their roving hands to touch. Usually a swift knee to the groin or a kick to the ankle made them back away. I didn't fancy having a physical dustup while pregnant. But Mr. Strain wasn't drunk. He hadn't touched me or the kids from what I saw. Only this verbal abuse. The man had lost his sanity somehow. As long as he kept his distance. Martin likely knew what was wrong with him and had been trying to sort it.

I cleared my throat. "Mr. Strain. Let me call Martin." I reached for my mobile buried in my handbag.

Strain's eyes bugged out and began shaking his head. "No…. no…. no. Now you and all these children get to work," he hissed. "Or I'll… I'll…"

"You'll what exactly?"

He started walking in circles around me and kids. "Dirty rocks. Dirty rocks. Dirty... homework. You'll all have _lots_ of homework," he muttered. Then he stopped and looked at me with eyes awash with despair. " _Please_ , help me." His hands wrung together with a life of their own.

I held up my hands. "Right. Class! Mr. Strain has given us a really nice assignment to get all these rocks spick and span. Right? Now Jaime, would you bring that bucket with all those brushes over here? Good. Now then everyone get a brush." I bent awkwardly and got to my knees. If everyone gets their very own rock and start scrubbing." The kids got busy by for Charlie who stood there shivering. "Charlie, you come help me," I said to him.

Strain hovered over me. "This one…" he pointed at my helper, "needs a bit more training."

I smiled at Charlie who was only eight. "Charlie, at home, when you and your sisters have a bath, I expect your mum scrubs the tub after?"

He nodded dumbly, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve. "Uh huh."

"Right then so let's take a brush." I held up the one in my hand. "Like this, hold it tightly, and start rubbing all this green weed of this rock. Then we can see how pretty it is. That good?"

Charlie nodded. "Okay, Miss Glasson." He set to work glad to have some direction while a madman prowled the beach.

"Scrub, scrub, scrub the rocks," I began to sing. "Make them all nice and neat. Pretty and sparkling."

Strain rocked back on his heels. " _Pretty_ rocks, yes that's good. Oh, very good!" He roughly petted Charlie's blonde head. "Good boy. Help your teacher." He lifted his hand from Charlie then smoothed his own thinning hair as he looked down at me. "Why are you helping?"

"It's what you want."

He shook his head from side to side not believing me.

"And you're my boss," I told him.

His nose wrinkled. "Yes… there is that."

He walked towards the other children and I heard him tell them to 'make the rocks pretty.'

Charlie whispered to me, "I'm scared."

I nodded at him and smiled reassuringly. "He's just playing a game. A special game," I answered Charlie. I made sure Strain was looking the other way as I snuck my mobile from my bag, quick dialed the surgery, and tucked phone between ear and shoulder keeping my back to the Head Teacher.

Pauline answered on the second ring. "Portwenn Surgery!" she screeched in my ear.

"Pauline, it's Louisa. I _must_ speak to Martin immediately. Urgent!" I whispered.

"Doc! Miss Glasson!" she screeched into my ear as she yelled from reception to his examining room.

Martin got on the line sharpish. "Louisa?"

"It's all very nice here at Rosscarrock Cove!" I told him in mock happiness.

"What's wrong?" Martin whispered.

"We could sure use some… _help_! Getting this beach all cleaned up!" I told him obliquely, pretending to be taking to Charlie.

Martin asked me, "Mr. Strain is _there_?"

"That's _right_ ," I told him quietly.

"And you can't _talk_?" he said to me.

"That's right, that's right…" I said but the mobile slipped away falling to the sand. "That's good," I finished. I turned and saw Strain looking my way. "That's good," I repeated after I tucked my mobile under the rock and out of sight. "Now," I said brightly. "What's next?"

Strain smiled at me, humming happily, lost in his own little world. I just prayed that Martin got my message clear enough.

Not five minutes later, Martin came running towards the beach, medical case in hand.

"Here comes Dr. Ellingham," I said brightly to the children. "He'll help us!"

"Are you alright?" Martin asked me when he got close.

"Fine."

"You're sure?"

Thirty-seven, well, thirty-eight now, single, pregnant, living over a pub… I actually only felt fine when I saw Martin. He didn't come to the altar but at least he came when I called for help.

I smiled up at him while a madman roved in the background. "Glad you came."

 *** This one came quick on the heels of Chapter 9 as I too was left in anxiety!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 – Ocean Deep**

Martin started asking probing questions but I waved him off. "Everything's fine, thank you Doctor. We're just helping with these rocks. Tidying o the beach."

Martin looked about. "How?"

"Getting them nice and clean," I said trying to make it all sound nice and lovely when what I wanted was for Martin to shoot Strain with something to knock him out.

Marti lowered his voice and said to me, "Louisa, you're just making it worse."

"No I'm not," I told him.

"Yes, you are," Martin protested quietly with me. "Endorsing a delusion just makes it worse. It increases." He straightened and looked at Mr. Strain. "Uhm, Mr. Strain, now that's enough, now you… come with me." Martin tried to take his arm to him but Strain got agitated and backed away.

I got up saying, "I think if we all… help… we'll get this done all the quicker and get back to school." Martin was now looking at me like I was mad, but I was just being practical. "We should try that," I said as I held out a scrub brush to Martin. I was between the two men like an umpire between two angry rugby players. Both eyed each other with wariness.

Martin snatched the brush away and was none too happy about it.

I knelt down on the sand at my rock. Martin slowly settled by my side while Strain walked about keeping his eyes on Martin. Clearly Mr. Strain knew things had gone far enough and was concerned by Martin's arrival.

"Did you bring a sedative or something?" I whispered to Martin then got back to scrubbing and singing, "Merrily, merrily…"

"Uhm, yes," he grunted.

"Good then. Just get him calm again and then maybe you can…"

"Maybe what?"

I looked at him closely. This was the closest we'd been since, well since I came back to the village. It was better than good that he was here and I just wished he might put his arms around me. I shook that thought away.

"What?" he asked in my ear.

"Glad you came to our rescue. He's been flopping from one extreme to the next. One second barking and the next calm and rational.

"He's got a medical condition."

I rolled my eyes. "Do tell."

"A serious one." He stood up. "Now Mr. Strain… come with me."

"No! She wants my job!"

"No she doesn't. Now if you'll walk with me?" Martin took his arm, but Strain jerked away.

Charlie was industriously working away until Martin stepped on his hand.

"Ow! Oww! He broke my fingers!" the kid yelled holding his injured hand with his other one then began to cry.

God! Good move Martin! Sheesh! I took Charlie's wrist. "Martin I think you might have broken it."

Strain spoke up, "He's the Doctor, he _should_ know."

Martin said, "Thank you," to Strain on obvious irritation.

"Can you move your fingers? If you can wiggle your fingers they're not broken!"

Strain lurched closer peering down at my student.

"There, see?" Martin said defensively.

Strain grabbed Charlie and half shook him. "Stop whinging?"

I pushed his hand away and Strain glared at me. He might hurt Charlie; well any of us really.

Martin interceded. "Alright, let's have a look. Come on." He bent down to attend to the child.

That's when Strain pushed me over, right onto my back! It didn't hurt; just felt awkward. Could have been worse I suppose.

Martin blew up at Strain. "How _dare_ you!"

"What?" Strain answered, clearly not on the planet any longer. He stood straighter then walked away.

In a flash Martin was at my side and helped me get up. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine I think. Yeah, I'm fine," I said. Nothing jumped out at me, or from me, thankfully. "Yes, I think so." I felt my bump but didn't feel any untoward movements from there. "It's alright Mr. Strain."

"It is NOT alright!" Martin blew up at Strain. "You can't just go pushing over pregnant women! It's not her fault you lost the plot! Pull _yourself_ together!"

Strain stood for a moment in shook. "Me?"

Martin got down by me. "Louisa any pain at all, any twinges?"

"I... I don't think so."

"Come on, try and sit up."

Martin helped me get off my back. His big strong hands felt good on me as they levered me off the damp sand.

Strain shook his head then turned to go; and there he went marching straight into the sea.

"Mr. Strain! Martin!" I screamed who was looking at me closely.

"Mr. Strain!" Martin called to him but to no avail for he kept walking away arms raised to the sky. "Oh God," Martin muttered.

Martin looked down at me. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, think so." I sat a little straighter. "What about him?"

I heard Martin sigh as he started to trot after him towards the sea calling his name.

"Oh, don't do that!"

Without a backward glance Mr. Strain marched on, hearing some siren call no doubt. He said before 'it called to him.' I suppose the sea her meant.

The kids stopped their rock cleaning to watch the spectacle. I wondered what they'd remember of this day when they got older?

Martin followed after Strain right to the water where the Head walked straight in.

I have to give Martin credit. He didn't flinch or slow when his feet hit the cold seawater, just kept plunging ahead while I brushed sand off my dress. Strain got out about thirty feet, maybe more, ended up waist deep, when Martin caught him. Strain was laughing by then.

I heard Strain laugh, "You see?" then he wrapped arms about Martin and dragged him under the waves.

Right then is when I heard Joe's police siren. Of course by the time Joe got out of his truck and dropped his utility belt on the sand, Martin was dragging my boss from the cold sea.

Joe helped Martin get Strain to the truck and into the back and oh dear they all looked very cold in the brisk breeze.

For some reason Pauline had arrived with Joe, but I suppose she wanted in on the action.

I directed the kids to give all their brushes to Nicky who was nearest the bucket and to get socks and shoes back on. Looked like the excitement was all over, at least for one day.

Martin and Joe conferred over Strain who now sat miserably in the back of Joe's truck, after Martin gave him an injection. Joe was shivering to beat the band holding a thermal blanket around himself. I saw as Martin tenderly tucked another blanket over Mr. Strain, who peered at me with eyes dull and lifeless.

When the kids were ready to walk back to school, I had a quick word with Martin. "What happened to him?"

"He has a medical condition which has caused his brain to misfire which caused a psychotic break. A loss of reality."

"I know what psychotic means. Will he be alright?"

"Depends," Martin muttered to me. "This condition… may take some time… awhm, to put right."

"Oh."

Martin bobbed his head. "I doubt he'll be able to be at school anytime soon."

"Oh. Days?"

Martin pursed his lips. "No. Unlikely."

Martin turned his attention to Pauline. "Why are you here?"

She smiled. "You came - I flagged down Joe. Here I am."

Before Martin could assail her, I suggested she help me walk the kids back to school.

Martin had a quiet conversation with Joe than used Joe's mobile for his was ruined by seawater.

I heard him speak to someone at Truro. He snapped the phone closed after a minute and gave it back to Joe. "Penhale, they're waiting for him in A&E. All arranged."

Joe smiled. "Sorry I got here late Doc. If I'd a' known…"

Martin shushed him. "Fine." He bent his head and peered into the truck at Mr. Strain. "Mr. Strain, Officer Penhale will be taking you to hospital for evaluation. I believe you have a metabolic disorder."

Strain's head bobbed. "Did I? Did I… hurt? Uhm anyone? A bit fuzzy."

Martin looked at me with some satisfaction, I thought. "No Mr. Strain. You didn't injure anyone."

0000

"Miss?" Timmy asked me, who was holding my hand as we waked back to the village. "Mr. Strain coming back?"

"Well I don't know. You miss him?"

"He's spooky," Timmy told me.

"He's mad," Pauline blurted out. "The nice policeman's taken him away to lock him up."

"No he hasn't," I protested trying not to scare the kids any worse. "He's just gone for a rest!"

"A _long_ rest," chuckled Pauline. "He won't be able to hurt you anymore!"

"He didn't hurt us Pauline. Just a bit of an adventure." I was not pleased with the way she was talking up what happened. I imagine the rumour mill would start the moment Pauline could get to a phone. I addressed the kids next. "Now you go in and get ready for home time."

I sighed. Martin walked along squishing with every step. He insisted on wearing suits, no matter what. Another one ruined, along with his mobile. "Thanks anyway Martin," I told our soggy village doctor.

"What do you mean, _anyway_?"

Pauline looked from me to Martin and back smirking. "You _two_ … see you tomorrow Doc." She took off down the hill leaving us to face each other.

"Actually _anything_ could have happened Louisa," he said to me. "With you in that condition. Sure you're okay? Nothing amiss?"

That condition? I was expecting a baby and I wasn't ill. He made it sound so… limiting... like I was an invalid. But I could have told him a lot that was amiss. Him - me - our baby - oh yes a lot that was torn asunder, but discussing it on the street while he dripped seawater? That far I would not go.

"Oh yes, just fine," I said but lurched as I felt something roll down below. "Ooh," I blurted out.

He started. "What? What happened?"

"Nothing," I said and smiled at Martin. "It moved." Felt like a kick.

"Moved?"

"Just a normal leg movement."

His eyes widened more. "Right."

A black car pulled up just then driven by Edith Montgomery. "Hello! Are you wet?" she called out.

That woman. Clearly she felt hanging about Martin was perfectly fine. Well I didn't like her any better now than I did two hours ago. She gave me the willies. "Bye Martin."

"Yes," he answered Edith, I heard as I left. "Just dealing with a patient who had a psychotic episode and walked into the sea."

"Friend of hers?" she asked him.

"Louisa? Aw, no, yes. Member of staff. Head master."

I walked faster across the play yard to the school. At the front door I looked back and saw Martin still talking to her bending down to peer inside.

There were things I should do. I'd have to call Stu Mackenzie and let him know what happened, for I don't believe that Mr. Strain would be returning anytime soon, if ever. Perhaps…. Perhaps I could get my old job back. Unkind of me to think that with the poor man so ill; ill but unfit clearly.

I should also likely plan to call my student's parents and let them know what had happened. Key thing was that nothing bad has happened to anyone, not even Mr. Strain.

Before I shut the school door, I watched Martin's broad back as he walked away back to his house, across the harbor. Just a three minute walk away… But he did come when I needed him, that's the thing to remember.

My class was cutting up a bit but I damped that down. "Now class, let's all remember our spelling quiz for tomorrow but I will review the words before I hand it out."

A chorus of moans was my answer.

Not that different from what the school secretary said when I told her what had happened after school let out. "Oh my God! You okay? The kids?"

I patted my belly in affirmation. "The class is fine, I'm fine, and my baby seems to be fine."

"Thank God for that! But what happened to him? I mean…"

"Doctor Ellingham said he has some medical problem."

Sally rolled her eyes. "Do tell." Then she shook her head. "Must'a been frightening."

"Little bit, yeah. Sally could you pull the parent numbers for my class? Think I ought to call 'em. Let all the parents know - factually," I thought of what Pauline was spreading at that moment. "Right?"

"Of course." She busied herself with the file cabinet. "I suppose that means the Head job might be open?"

"I…. I don't know."

She smiled. "There's lots would be very happy to have _you_ back in as Head teacher."

"We'll see."

She nodded. "Yes, politic. Good. Of course the Board of Governors need to know."

"I'll call Mr. Mackenzie straight away."

Sally smiled. "Quite a day, eh?"

I sighed. "Yes, Sally quite a day." Yes, it had been frightening. Thank Heavens Martin came when I called. Out in the hallway I leaned against the wall for a moment to catch my breath and calm myself before I made quite a few phone calls. "Thanks Martin. You saved the day." Martin is always good in a crisis. The baby kicked me again reminding me that some things were still coming along. Not exactly a crisis growing down there but soon enough I'd be holding my baby in my arms. Things to do...


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 – Proper Job**

"So as I said Mr. Strain took sick," I said into the telephone.

Mrs. Zales (the end of my class parent list thankfully, which I'd called from 'a' to 'zed') snorted at me. "Couldn't have happened any time sooner if you ask me."

"Isn't that a bit unkind?" I asked her. "It wasn't his fault."

"No. I _never_ liked the man. Sorry he took sick, but I ain't sorry he's gone," she sniffed.

That's the way of some in the village. They called things as they saw it.

She went on saying, "And it's a damn straight road that you could do that job ten times better, with both eyes closed and twice as preggers as you is."

I nearly laughed. "I'm expectant enough thank you."

"Sorry Miss G," she muttered. "I mean _you'll_ make a proper job of it. By the way, what's between you and the Doc? Josie Tilley was sayin' to me other day she heard somebody tellin' someone else that you and him were makin' plans again. Tie the knot like."

I cleared my throat. "I…" but then I had to pause for a breath. I would admit I was very glad for his welcome attendance on the beach. But marriage? Tried that and it failed; that is we didn't even get to the church.

"So what IS goin' on?" Mrs. Zales prodded further. "Seems to reason you and him and a baby on the way…"

I stopped her by saying, "Yes, _thang kew_ , Mrs. Zales, for your advice. But I want you to know that your little Jaime is just fine after our little beach excursion. I wanted to make sure that you understand nothing…. _untoward_ … happened to _any_ of the kids."

"Yeah, got that."

"So any questions? About the _school_?"

She laughed. "Louisa Glasson I know'd you since you we moved down here from Tintagel when I was ten, so don't you try to put me off. I'll just say me and my Robbie are very glad you are back at village school and you'll get the place back to the way it was afore you flew the coop last Fall."

"Ahm, thank you for that."

"And… as I was sayin' if you and the Doc would just sit down. Work things out? I'm sure…"

Luckily Sally stuck her head into the door. "Stu Mackenzie is on the phone in the office."

That gave me an escape without being rude. " _Thank you_ Mrs. Zales for that vote of confidence and Jaime is doing fine in year three. Now I must go. Bye!"

Glad to be end another grilling, which every parent had wanted to engage in, I stood up, rubbed my aching back and followed Sally to her office.

"Louisa! Stu here," he said to me as soon as I spoke into the phone on Sally's desk. Sally tried to become part of the woodwork but she stood across the room with eyes wide and ears open. Oh well. "What in hell's going on?" Stu asked me. "I head Joe Penhale arrested Mr. Strain?"

I took a deep breath. "Noooo, nothing like that. Mr. Strain took ill – at the beach. I was away at a doctor's appointment and when I got back found he'd taken my class to Rosscarrock Cove to inspect the beach rocks."

"What? That total idiot! That's too dangerous!"

"I know. Anyway the tide was full out, no danger at that time."

"Very irresponsible of him. What happened? Joe called me right after he got Strain into hospital in Truro. Said the man was a mess; half laughing and half crying by the time he got 'im there. And I heard Strain tried to drown Ellingham in the surf?"

It was worse than I thought. "No! Not like that at all." I took a deep breath and told the head of the school Governors, what the facts were. I finished by saying, "And you know how Joe can be… a little… _enthusiastic_ when it comes to his job."

Stu swore softly. " _Bloody_ … sorry, Louisa. My it's all a fine mess."

"Martin, I mean, Dr. Ellingham, told me that Mr. Strain had a metabolic disorder which made him, well, _confused_."

"Daft more like. Ellingham told me the same thing."

"Oh, you spoke to Martin."

"Sure did. Right after Penhale rung me up. Had to pry it out of him. Patient-doctor _confidentiality_. He musta said that 'bout five times. Finally told me Strain's cracked up. Yeah I know it's a medical thing. But he can't work. Sure as hell can't have him around the kiddies either after today."

"Stu, the man's _ill_. He didn't mean what he did and he didn't hurt anybody."

"But you were there, Miss Glasson. You tell me. Was he rational? Did anything he do or say make sense?"

"No, not then." The feel of his hands when he pushed me over flashed past in a quick buzz of fear. "He… he didn't mean what happened."

Stu grunted. "Martin told me he won't be back to work anytime soon. Weeks likely, if ever."

"Oh? That long?"

There was a long pause and then he asked me, "So Miss Glasson, what are we to do?"

"We?"

I heard a shuffle of footsteps out in the hall and the rustle of clothing so I looked around to see the entire staff of the school, all six teachers, along with Mr. Coley, watching me quizzically.

Stu was saying in my ear, "Yes, we – you – me – our school."

Penny smiled at me, they all did, even Pippa Woodley who could be a bit grim looking at times.

"What do you mean? I asked him.

"I'll call the other governors – tell 'em what you just told me. Hope you don't mind. Just to confirm things."

"Do what makes sense." My back cramped, so I had to perch on the desk as I started to rub it.

Sally disappeared and then handed me a glass of water, which I drank.

Stu laughed next. "I'll tell you what makes sense! _You_ take over, Miss Glasson. You know the school, the kids, the system, and last time I talked to Strain he had the school accounts pretty well buggered up! Needs a good sorting over there. So I'm asking you, will _you_ be our Temporary Head Teacher?"

My lord the body was hardly cold. "But… Mr. Strain will be back… eventually."

Stu laughed once more. "Not if I have anything to do with it. We made a giant mistake bringing him on."

"Oh, well…" I didn't give them much warning back in October. "Let me think."

"Look Miss Glasson if Strain's gone two weeks or rest of term someone has to pick up the pieces. We have to pay his salary anyway since he's sick. If he's out long enough he'll go on disability, right? But in the meantime will you take a crack at it? Start to get things sorted?"

"I…" I looked at the hopeful faces of the staff – my staff if I wanted the job again. "It's a lot of responsibility."

"You've done it before. Easy as falling off a log," Stu said encouragingly.

Mrs. Zales told me she knew I'd do a proper job. I sighed to myself but I didn't really have a choice. "Fine, I'll do it."

Stu laughed. "Good. Great! I'm sure we can figure out a way to get you back to your old pay level."

I hadn't even thought of that. "Whatever."

"Fair's fair, Miss Glasson" Stu told me. "Proper job - that's what we need. Thank you."

"Goodbye, then Mr. Mackenzie," I said, hung up the handset and then turned to face my staff.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 – The Other Woman**

I reviewed the situation with the staff. They were all happy he was gone; clearly the pressure of working for Strain had been… a strain. No other way to put it.

Mr. Coley nodded when I finished. "Sorry the bugger cracked but all the same glad he's gone. Nutter."

"Ahm, Mr. Coley, and the rest of you, if someone asks, of course they will, tell them that Mr. Strain is on medical leave. That's the honest truth. Nothing more needs to be said. Right? No speculation or rumors need to be spread. Got it?"

Alison Lane our cafeteria lady ran down the hall. "Sorry, I'm late! I heard sumthin' went with Strain?"

I sighed. "Where'd you hear it?"

She blushed. "Farmer's market. I'd cleaned up the school kitchen early and was gone. I got home, fixed tea for Delph, and then was buying my groceries. Mrs. Clyde told me all about it in the market. You okay? 'Cause if you're not that _tosser_ will get one of _these_ ," she held out a heavy boot-laden foot, "up his bloody arse!"

Not a nice thing to say but it broke the tension so everybody laughed. They all congratulated me on the change then set off for home. I told them I'd speak to each of them separately in the next day or so.

Sally raised her eyebrows. "Well Miss Glasson – Acting Head Teacher what now?"

I chewed on a lip. "Better take a peek at his office. See what's that like." I was worried, for his bizarre behavior was so out-of-line who knew what we'd see in there?

Sally grimaced. "He kept me out of his office the last two days." She stood straighter. "Might be quite a mess in there."

Sally and I started to sort out Mr. Strain's office, or at least to see what we had to work with. Despite the obsessive desk straightening he'd subjected the desk in my classroom to, his had become a shambles. Papers were strewn over the floor, he'd doodled on the walls in Biro, and all the books on the bookshelves had been rearranged so the bindings were color coordinated from red to dark blue.

We looked at each other in amazement then got to work. Most was put right by picking up, until we got to the bottom drawer of his desk. There was a fusty, musty odor which got stronger the closer we go to the bottom-most drawer. Sally opened that drawer and immediately brought a hand to her nose. "What is _in_ there?"

A stink best described as gym locker, overdone kipper, and month's-old sandwich rose in a cloud. It was so bad I had to run down the hall to the washroom and while hanging my head over a sink tried not to vomit.

Sally was quickly at my side with a worried look. "You okay?"

I gulped a few times then washed my mouth out as I dabbed at my lips with a paper towel. I asked her, "Lord, what _was_ that smell?"

She shrugged. "Old lunches? What say I get Mr. Coley to clean that away? When I was having my girls the slightest off smell set me running for the loo."

A stronger bout of dry heaves hit me but I didn't bring anything up. " _Whatever_."

She patted my shoulder. "Just stay out of there until we get it cleaned and aired. You've had a _very_ hard afternoon. You should go home."

"I… but my class has a _quiz_ tomorrow and I _need_ to get that copied… plus I _ought_ to look at the _budgets_ … and then…."

Sally smiled. "Miss Glasson, look."

"Call me Louisa, Sally. We're to work together."

She sighed at me but her eyes were kind. "Louisa, then. All in good time. You go home, put your feet up. Just give me the quiz and I'll run it off. Right?"

"I'm living over the pub, you know."

She nodded. "Yes I know. Well then, go somewhere you can relax; take a walk, have a meal. Back to your room and put your feet up. You must be tired."

After what I'd just smelled food was the furthest from my mind. I stood up, patted the sweat on my forehead and tried to look a bit more Head Teacher-like. "I'll get the quiz for you."

"Anything else?"

"Oh, and I'll need access to the Head's email account."

"I have the master password in my desk and we can get that sorted. Probably just use your current account and have all his mail routed to yours? I can do that."

Having some IT know-how on hand would be useful. "I didn't ask for his job; want you to know."

She smiled. "When opportunity knocks, open the door."

Taking that bit of advice I gathered my things, handed the quiz paper to sally and left the building. I was no sooner out the door then Mrs. Clyde came running.

"Miss Glasson? You doing okay?" she yelled to me. My name alerted every person on the street and quickly they all came running. Yes news travels quickly here. No matter that mobile signals can be dodgy mouth-to-ear works far better in the small village.

They all asked if I was hurt, what happened with Strain, were the kids alright, what did the Doc do, did Joe really tackle Strain? One garbled account after the other was thrown at me.

I held up my hands and got silence; told them the story; pared down, factual, and extremely concise. Then they started asking about me and Martin. Then came a babble of voices and questions. The top five, I think, were:

Did the Doc know about the baby before I came back?

Did he ask me to marry and would I?

Did I know I was having the baby when I called off the wedding?

Was that why you left? Why did you leave? Why did you come home?

Who is that ginger-headed gal that keeps hangin' out at the Doc's surgery after hours?

I just shook my head and left them standing there, mouths agape. Too personal; too much all at once, too much…. much too much.

After hours, Edith Montgomery was 'hanging out?'

I plastered a non-nonsense expression on my face and walked down to the pub and went up to my room.

I decided to take some of Sally's advice and relax, so I drew a tub full of warm water and had a nice bathe. It was something I used to do when I was little. After washing my hair I lay back in the claw-footed tub, put a wet wash cloth over my face, eyes closed, and tried to relax. It almost worked.

Edith Montgomery – Doctor Edith Montgomery kept popping into my head. They were in school together. He brought her down to Cornwall. He wanted to marry her. But…. But she went overseas for her career.

Joan Norton didn't like her that was pretty clear. The way she got icy in the truck coming back when I asked about Edith told me volumes.

The water was cooling off and I ought to get out before I got a chill. That's when it hit. It all came crashing down.

Strain going barmy, being very frightened, Martin literally running to the rescue, getting tipped on my backside, the kids clustered around me as we watched Strain go into the sea then as Martin dragged him out.

But the worst was the _Other Woman_. Edith. Edith Montgomery was working over in Truro, found out Martin was here, and has been _dogging_ him; no doubt wanting to take up where they had left off!

A friend of Martin she said to me, as she sat very calmly at his kitchen table. I wondered where else she got to in his house? His sitting room? Upstairs? His bedroom?

A nasty little scene popped into my head – the two of them tangled in rumpled sheets – playing at comparative biology and calling it _studying_. You show me yours and I'll show you mine!

The strain was too great. A dam broke and it came out; all my pent-up worries.

I exploded into tears; horrible racking sobs that were _so_ loud and soul-rending I had to open the faucet full blast to muffle my cries.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 – Truth of the Matter**

There were so many things to think about; as Acting Head Teacher and all the other things.

Stu said the budget was not right and I guessed there were some parents who I'd have to either win over or placate now that Mr. Strain was gone. It was very clear to me that no one had liked him, whether he was deranged or not.

I finally hauled myself from the tub after the water had gone dead cold, dried and dressed myself and felt a tiny bit human once more.

The sight of Martin's soggy back walking away after a chat up with his new girlfriend kept coming into my mind. I faced my reflection in the fly spotted mirror over the dressing table and looked hard at it. "Well what you gonna do about him and his new girlfriend? Hm? Waddle up to surgery some night and work your ever-expanding feminine charms on him? Drag him upstairs into his bed?"

I shook my head. "That ship has sailed, girl. You had a chance but you tossed it. Threw it straight into the bin!" That's when I had to dab a damp eye.

London didn't solve anything. The baby kicked so I touched my belly softly. "I know, I know. _Sh_ down there. Everything's gonna be just fine. We got a better job; not quite the old one but close." I heard the early evening revelers arrive downstairs for the nightly pint and gob flapping. "There is a little matter of a house though."

The rhythmic kicking down there stopped then became a sort of flutter. "No, no, Mr. Strain didn't hurt me, or you; no one. He was sick is all. Just a bit under the weather."

Laughter began downstairs and it sounded like Mike Chubb and Chippy Miller were getting into a loud harangue about football. "Right, got to get a place to stay. This won't do. Nope."

I brushed my hair in long strokes, my eyes closed, until all the tangles were gone. I pulled it back, looped a scrunchy around the long tail and let it fall down my back. I brushed some rouge across my pale cheeks, added my usual raspberry colored lipstick and inspected the result. "Not bad there, Louisa. 'Oh you do look nice, Louisa.'", I added in an imitation of Martin's low voice.

That was not a great idea. Images of Martin and me flooded my mind. Eating out, the concert (which was a disaster at the end), him saving Holly's life on my kitchen slate, his needy proposal (which I accepted without even a second's hesitation), the first time we made love…

My poor lip sprang between my teeth. "Louisa what's the bloody point? Why even GO there?"

Shocked, I stared at myself in the mirror with that sort of look we give ourselves when the honest truth is so, so visible. "You still love him, don't you?"

And the truth of the matter is that's why you came back to Portwenn, isn't it?

I nodded slowly at my reflection. "Damn."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 – Songs on the radio**

I switched on my room radio, with a black cracked case, and twirled the tuner. When I heard a familiar hard rock guitar riff, I stopped turning the knob, for suddenly I was a little girl again, watching my mum dance around our kitchen floor mouthing the word to this song.

We didn't have a TV back then, being too poor to afford a telly let alone an annual license as well, but we did have a radio. Mum had it switched on most days and at that time I recall, she loved al lot of the rock music.

Fact is I never had my own telly until I moved back here from Wales and bought a small one and had enough money for the annual license fee.

The heavy-metal chords I was hearing were familiar, too much so, for it was mum's favorite song. As Joan Jett, backed up by The Blackhearts, blasted the words out of the speaker, a little sob flew from my mouth.

The edgy tune took me right back to the cottage I was raised in. I must have been eleven and mum was fixated on this song. She sang it when she ironed, or cleaned, or cooked; if she did those things. It was the summer she left me and dad.

" _Midnight gettin' uptight, where are you?  
You said you'd meet me now it's quarter to two  
I know I'm hangin' but I'm still wantin' you_

 _Hey Jack it's a fact they're talkin' in town  
I turn my back and you're messin' around  
I'm not getting jealous don't I like lookin' like a clown_

 _I think of you every night and day  
You took my heart then you took my pride away"_

Bloody hell. The song said it all. Talkin' in town – me with a belly growing every minute and no ring on my finger. Messing around; thanks Martin, you and Edith.

" _I hate myself for loving you  
Can't break free from the the things that you do  
I wanna walk but I run back to you that's why  
I hate myself for loving you"_

Can't break free. Oh yeah. Right. I had to sit down on the bed as the words echoed off the walls.

" _I hate myself  
For loving you  
I hate myself  
For loving you  
I hate myself  
For loving you  
I hate myself  
_ _I hate myself for loving you_

 _I wanna walk but I run back to you"_

But isn't that what I had done? I ran straight back to Portwenn thinking Martin would be waiting for me? And it made me heartsick to the core? Course I ran away to London as well. I closed my eyes as the song blared on.

" _I think of you every night and day  
You took my heart then you took my pride away_

 _I think of you every night and day  
You took my heart then you took my pride away"_

The baby kicked once then paused for a few moments. "Sorry," I told my belly. "It's not about you, right? I'm not… embarrassed… by you. Not really."

The baby must have heard me for it kicked a couple more times then stopped but Joan Jett kept belting line after line:

" _Daylight spent the night without you  
But I've been dreamin' 'bout the lovin' you do  
I'm not being angry 'bout the hell you put me through"_

Last night I _was_ cold in my lonely bed. I do dream about Martin and me together. His hands, his arms around me, his breath warm in my ears and on my neck and on my…

" _Hey man bet you can treat me right  
You just don't know what you was missin' last night  
I wanna see you begging say forget it just from spite"_

Do I want that? To have Martin beg to have me take him back? Certainly I'd want him to say he made a mistake about me; and about Edith. I was _so_ much better than her, that flame-haired witch. But I was angry with Martin; a little bit.

But _I hate myself for loving you_ stung hard like wind-driven ocean spray on a winter's walk. The song went on and on and when it ended I felt stunned for it said it all.

Mum crushed out her fag and threw it in the sink half-filled with dirty dishes and pots. "I'm going out," she declared to me.

I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my school work. It wasn't hard, for I was a dab hand at lessons, but had a lot of it that night. End of term was a week away and the teachers were trying to get through all the lesson plans before summer holiday. It was a lesson I learned well so when I teach I slow down my classes in the last few days. Give the kids a break.

I looked at the boiling pot on our stove waiting for her to drop in the pasta. "What about… the uhm… supper?"

She drew a shawl around her shoulders, crossed the room, and bending down took my chin in her hand. "Sweet Lou-lou, you can fix it. Ten minutes on the boil, pour it out, and don't burn yourself. Then open that jaw of red sauce and slather it on."

I looked at her earnest face. "I… thought we'd… uhm…"

"There's bread in the pantry and canned peaches there as well. Uhm what?"

I shrugged.

She almost sneered at me. "Have a little sit down and eat together like civilized people? A family?" She straightened her back and peered around at our combined kitchen and sitting room. I knew she was looking at the faded paint, the dingy and cracked plaster, the stain on the ceiling from leaky pipes. "Give me a break," she laughed. She went on, "How many nights Lou-lou have I waited for yer dad to come home? Hm? Most nights he ain't here 'til late. Really late." She sniffed. "To hell with it."

"Dad will be home soon," I protested. "He will." The clock said nine and the summer light still filled the windows from the dropping sun. "He said he got some extra work."

"Work? That man wouldn't know work if it jumped up and bit him on the arse." She got to the door, but then looked back at me. She crossed the room, and stroked my hair, bending down to kiss my forehead.

I sensed something had just happened. "Mum?" Some moments we only know until much later what they meant. That moment was one of those.

Mum shook her head slowly and I think I heard her cough or maybe choke. Then she gave me a sad smile. "You'll be fine, Lou-lou. You'll be fine." She took up her handbag and went out the door without a backwards glance. She was gone all that night and all next day. Dad was frantic by next evening. He called off work at the quarry and was goin' up and down, all over, asking after her. But she was gone or stayed well hidden.

"What did she say again?" he bellowed at me for about the hundredth time.

"Dad! It's not my fault!" I protested, nearly crying. "Like I said…"

He was wringing his hands together, the way he did when the money was gone and the pantry was down to half a loaf and some canned beans. "You said she was listening to the radio?"

I nodded at him. "She… well… she heard _that_ song… then her face took a queer look."

Terry grimaced. "Then she ran off."

I could only nod at his lined face. He hadn't shaved or washed after work the previous night and his clothes were covered in rock dust from the day.

Dad looked at me sadly. "Louisa," he squared his shoulders. "Maybe I'd better tell you about yer mum and me." He sighed deeply. "Eleanor and me, we… we don't always get along."

I rolled my eyes like that was news. "Yeah."

"And…" he sat down heavily on one of our creaky chairs and rubbed his whiskered face. "She's talked about maybe goin' away." He gulped. "So… think she must of." He stared at the clock for quite a while, then he told me, "You see, I think your mum hates me."

I asked "Dad? What do you mean?" I knew they didn't get on, sometimes, and that summer they'd been very cross with each other. All I could do was scurry out of the way and keep my head down.

Dad wiped his eyes and in a low voice began to tell me about things – grownup things. That's when I learned one of the facts of life - that love doesn't always last; sometimes it just dries up and blows away.

I couldn't believe what he was saying. "She hates you dad? Mum hates you? And me too?"

He came around the table and embraced me. "No, Louisa. She doesn't hate _you_ and maybe not even me. Mayhap she just hates the way things have worked out for _her_."

Was that what happened with me and Martin? I sat there thinking for a minute or so while the radio announced the weather and some football scores, but when the Carpenters came on singing " _Let Me Be The One_ " I snapped it off savagely.

Wrapping a cardigan over my shoulders I fled my small room.

As I marched away from the pub I thought that _hate_ was such a strong word. A hurtful word, wasn't it? But did I _really_ hate myself for loving Martin?

A gull swooped overhead and its scream was a melancholy answer.

 **Author's note:**

 **The song is from 1982, sung by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts: "I Hate Myself For Loving You."**

 **Karen and Richard Carpenter, singing as Carpenters, premiered their release of the song "Let Me Be The One (To Run To)" in 1971.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

 **Rocks**

So what was I going to do? I held tightly to the coastal path handrail and stared down at the foaming seas below. The waves were pounding on the rocks at the foot of the cliff, their never ceasing assault on the land. The sea was winning, for I knew that a tiny piece at a time cold seawater was eating away at the cliff; one of the reasons that there were frequent rock falls or sea caves opening or enlarging along the coast.

I craned my neck over the edge and saw an especially large wave strike the rocks below sending a wild spray of water nearly thirty feet upward and to the sides. But the rock held firm.

I once told Martin he was a stick of rock through and through - like the famous rock candy with words running right thru it. Martin was like that; a stick of rock, as solid and unmovable as the very headland I was standing on.

Lord knows he came in handy this afternoon. He plowed straight into the cold ocean without a moment's hesitation. I looked across the harbor and saw the lights on his house wink on. He was a rock dealing with Strain, but I thought he'd attack the man when I got pushed over.

Martin was over there in his house, and me, over here. Spray from below blew up the cliff and dampened my face, and I tasted salt.

The baby moved so suddenly I almost had to sit down it felt so odd and stretchy, like I was being pushed from side-to-side. I put a hand to my side and felt a hard little foot, so I caressed it, but no further movement came. The pushing and shoving stopped and all was quiet on my lower front.

"Been quite a day, hasn't it?" said a voice at my elbow.

"What?" I turned my head and there was Al Large standing close by holding a red toolbox. I'd not heard him approach. "Oh, hi Al."

"I…" he scratched his neck, " _we_ , uhm, heard about the Head, that is Mr. Strain."

"Yes?" Of course Pauline would have spread the delicious news. I could only imagine the embellishments she dreamed up.

He set his toolbox down, cleared his throat and squinted out at the sea. "But you're alright though?"

"Fine, yes."

He nodded, lips pressed together. "Well, that's good then."

"Yeah."

"Shame he got… sick like."

I nodded back. "He turned quite ill."

Al winked at me. "But I hear you're the school's new Head Teacher? _Mar-vel-ous_!"

"It's only temporary."

He grinned. "Yeah, well… hopefully it's _long term_ , right?"

"I'm just filling in is all." I tipped my head at his tools. "You?"

He looked down at his red box. "I was up at the Prudy's. Toilet backup. All them kids it's a wonder..." he grimaced, "their toilet works at all."

There were many Prudy children in the school. It seemed that the prolific Prudy's always had one entering school and another leaving at the top end, while another was coming into the world. I liked Marian Prudy, who was a calm and serene mother. I suppose if you have ten kids, to keep any sort of sanity, you'd have to remain calm. "I'm sure you fixed the plumbing."

He chuckled. "I try, I do try. This time it was a toy duck, a wooden stacking block, and about a hundred feet of loo paper down the pipes."

"Nasty."

He laughed. "The little one was bein' trained. You know? Part of the job."

"I thought you've been helping your dad with the restaurant?"

He sighed. "Well things aren't always as well run there as they… might be… in the money bit, so uhm… the plumbin' does come in handy. Cash and all that."

"Ah." I rubbed my arms under my thin sweater for the wind had gone cold.

"Bit chill this evening."

I stated the obvious. "The ocean."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "I'll be off." He turned to go. "Oh, and dad says if you need anything? Ask."

"Thanks Al."

He picked up his toolbox. "Oh, and I heard the Prudy's oldest is joining the army."

"Ah." I recalled Michael. "Good for him. He's a smart boy."

Al laughed. "I don't know how the parents keep up with 'em all. It's a madhouse over there. Havin' little uns, keeping things runnin' in the house…" His voice slowed and then stopped.

He was probably wondering how I would manage., so I bristled. "Al? I'll have you know that all the Prudy children are very well behaved and quite clean as well."

He held up his hands. "I'm not… bein' judgmental or anything." He sighed. "But musta been scary down at Rosscarrock Cove. You and all them kids on the beach." He shook his head. "A wonder that nothin' bad happened."

I put on my teacher voice and told him levelly, "My class was unharmed and Doctor Ellingham was on the beach with us."

He smiled. "Joe Penhale said he, that is, Mr. Strain tried to drown the Doc? That he had to wrestle with him?"

"I will confirm that Mr. Strain did walk into the sea, but Martin pulled him out. They both got a good dunking."

Al shook his head. "Good old Portwenn. _Always_ sumthin' goin' on."

I chuckled for it was so. "Goodnight Al. Say hi to Bert for me."

He smiled cheerily. "Righto."

I watched him saunter away in that slow neglectful walk of his. Al was smarter than he seemed, I was sure of it, but he often started projects but had big ideas and didn't finish. I supposed his dad had rubbed off on him. I wondered what ever happened to Al's dreams of school and computer studies. Likely no money; a common complaint hereabouts.

As for money, Stu Mackenzie assured me my pay would be greater. That was good because I needed to get out of the pub. Too noisy and busy, and I couldn't walk thru the taproom to the stairs going up to the rooms above without running a gauntlet of questions, comments, or just conversation. It was all just the village being the village of course, but it was wearing on me of late.

Of course this baby I was growing had a lot to do with it. No privacy at all while staying there. But every pregnant mum knows that a bulging belly seems to invite comment. Questions about my size, or weight, or if me and Martin were _permanently_ quits, or questions about my old job in London… it was just too much to take!

"OOOOOH!" I yelled at the sea far below.

" _Louisa_?" a voice spoke. "Something the matter?"

I whirled, thinking Al had come back but there stood Martin staring at me pointedly.

I crossed my arms and glared at him.

He glanced down, then up and cleared his throat. "I… wanted… to ask…."

 **Author's notes:**

 **In the novel Brighton Rock, by Graham Green, the character Ida says "It's like those sticks of rock: bite it all the way down, you'll still read Brighton." This echoes what Louisa told Martin in Series 2.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

 **Louisa**

What could I say to her? My glottis locked and I couldn't get air for a moment. The breeze was making her ponytail sway back and forth and ruffled the seams of her cardigan. Her pregnancy bulge was more pronounced then when she arrived in the village just a week ago. I'd not managed to elicit her due date but given the fact this was our baby, and near as I could tell the last time we were…. _together_ … was a Sunday in October, I could fairly well estimate it. Late July, most likely, and the baby would be here then unless it progressed to come more quickly.

Her breasts, though never very large, were clearly swollen as they prepared to make milk for nursing when the time came. Hopefully she was wearing a suitable undergarment to prevent sagging and was able to do so without binding.

Her ankles, from what I saw on the beach today did not look puffy, nor had she developed a mask of pregnancy with red blotchy cheeks and swollen lips. Her complexion was just as perfect and fine as ever.

Likely her blood pressure was proper at this point, if elevated slightly, all normal. I certainly hoped she was taking her vitamins and iron supplements. Unfortunately she was probably snacking on chocolate digestives; a horrendous habit she had. That was just one I'd tried to dissuade her from last fall before our marriage. Our marriage which did not happen of course.

Vitamins; no she'd be taking them – and biscuits as well. I knew her that well.

When I managed to take a sip of air, I tried to speak but it was still no good.

She cocked her head slightly and crossed her arms more firmly. No doubt she felt cold this evening. The breeze was up and a cool front was approaching according to the Met. Having said that though many women report feeling warmer than normal while carrying a foetus, which made perfect sense given the larger metabolic load of the pregnancy.

 _The_ pregnancy? Good God Martin! It's not _the_ pregnancy, it's _her_ pregnancy! Must you be so bloody technical all the time? And she's carrying your baby.

When the village committee examined you three years back for the GP job, Louisa Glasson had stuck it in your for fair didn't she? She'd nailed you as you said _cases_ along with _the_ patients; all the impersonal rubbish of surgery up in London.

Elaine had stocked the surgery with biscuits and tea when you started here, merely fulfilling the Dr. Sim's touchy-feeling, home-town, make-the-surgery-a-café-system. For she didn't understand that wasn't the way you did things. Screaming out 'next patient,' practically pushing patients (people rather) out of your examining room, and hustling the next in one, barely letting the seat cushions get cold. While the villagers wanted to have a chin-wag and a cuppa, delaying their tale of woe about bunions and sinus headaches.

London was all hustle and bustle, with roaring Tubes, blaring taxis, panda cars racing along the streets with klaxons blaring. And the people? Eight million or thereabouts thronged the place, making it the largest and most expensive city in Europe. If you weren't careful you might get pushed off the pavement in some places from the crush of human bodies.

Ah London, where you could attend an award winning show or concert both on the same day, or go to any one of hundreds of museums, from the British Museum or Gallery of Art to the Churchill War Rooms hidden under the Treasury.

In the micropolis of Portwenn the latest art thing was a watercolour exhibit by the Methodist Church Women's Art Club and Birdwatching Society. I had been pressed into duty as a judge and found all the so-called artworks to be amorphous streaky blobs of color on wrinkled tan paper. I tried to advise the society head that they ought to at least read about proper technique, buy proper paper stock, and not use so much water on their brushes for that way the colors wouldn't run.

She was a tall thin wrinkled stick with wispy straw-colored hair wearing a flowered dress that looked it came from a jumble sale, and a red-looking left eye which reminded she was likely not using the prescribed drops for her dry eye.

"Oh, _art critic_ , eh?" She growled back angrily at me. "Why in hell don't _you_ stick to yer doctorin' Doc?"

" _You_ invited _me_ Mrs. Woolford!" I gave her back. "And I can see you have not been using your ocular lubricating drops."

"Camelford."

"Uhm, yes. Mrs. Camelford."

"Miss!" She'd crossed her arms angrily at me. "Tosser," she muttered.

"Look, I was only trying to give you the benefit of my knowledge – such as it is – about watercolour techniques."

"Wot you know about it?"

There was a nurse I knew long ago who painted and who'd told me about correct technique. The merest tint of color was needed on a dampened bristle to apply a small amount of paint to paper. "You're soaking the paper! Then it wrinkles and the paint runs!"

My Aunt Joan swooped in and dragged me aside. " _MARTY_! They didn't ask you to _criticize_ , merely _judge_!"

I turned up my nose. "Looks like she threw paint at the paper," I told her.

Joan sighed. "If _you_ had _read_ the flyer," she jammed one under my nose, "it says right here this is an exhibition of Impressionistic art! All these women spent _weeks_ out on the moor painting flowers! Really!"

I turned and peered more closely at what they called art. If I squinted I could almost convince myself that all those pink blobs might be flowers. The cadre of angry and aged female artists glared at me with unconcealed venom. "Mm, _right_ ," I muttered.

Joan moaned and dragged me towards the door. "You'd better leave now Marty before they get out the torches and pitchforks! Go on! Out!"

I ducked out the door, then went back in, and instructed Miss Calmerfort to come see me next day so I could examine her eye.

"It's _Camelford_!" she screamed at me.

Names – names were an issue, but I looked at the woman standing a few feet away. Louisa Glasson, five foot-six, perhaps, ten stone or so, perhaps more with pregnancy weight. Normally medium, no slender build, clear eyes, which can go from blue to grey to green depending on the light, with a smooth complexion, and chestnut hair; soft chestnut hair that smells of conditioner and Kenzo Flower perfume. A natural beauty.

I had to stop myself for just looking at her I recalled all of her – all there was – her kindness, her concern, the way she'd get angry in a split second, the way her lips curl up when she's happy or nervous, the brown mole under the clavicle, the way her arms went around me, the tender kisses, and the deep sighs when we…

I shook my head for I was turning into a near pervert if I kept thinking about her, yet her pregnancy was proof we had been together, more than once; more than several. I sighed for I missed her and that part of our relationship though rubbish it had turned into.

She tossed her head for she was clearly waiting for me to say _something_ ; anything Martin! Good God! Don't be such a bloody ninny! Those words rang in my head in the harsh voice of my father.

The mother-to-be of our child licked her raspberry-colored lips and turned away from me slightly.

I took a breath. "Louisa, I tried to call you but you didn't answer."

"On my mobile?"

I nodded.

She opened her handbag and rummaged around with a slender hand. "Hm. Oh it's on the charger in my room."

I cocked my head towards the pub. "The barman told me he saw you come up here."

"You went into the pub?"

"Yes."

She almost smiled. "Make a mark on the wall. Martin went to the pub. But you called me? What for?"

I cleared my throat. "Yes… so…when you… didn't answer, I… grew _concerned_."

"Why?"

"Why?" I nearly bellowed in frustration so I took a deep lungful and slowed down, lowering the tone of my voice. "Today – on the beach."

She smiled at me. "Oh. We're fine."

 _We_ are fine. The different pronoun made me wince and I didn't know why. She didn't say _I_. She said _we_. "I see."

She stiffened slightly and in an irritated voice replied, "You _see_. What _do_ you see Martin? _Hm_?"

 **Author's notes:**

 **Panda cars – A medium-sized police car used by British Police.**

 **Stone – Unit of Imperial weight measure. One stone equals 14 pounds (or about 6.35 kg).**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

 **Seeing is believing**

Carter the anatomist coughed as he said to me, "Ellingham, can you tell me what you both observe and surmise about this person?"

I saw Parsons roll his eyes at me on the other side of the specimen. I stared at Chris in return and he shrugged. Chris and I had a dustup in chemistry the other day and he was likely still smarting from the dressing down I'd given him. He and I had been tasked as partners in a synthesis experiment and the boob dropped the sample just as it was ready to go into the spectrograph.

I craned my neck over Edith's head to get a better view of the preserved human corpse on the steel table. The smell of preservative was a heavy stink in the room. That combined with too cool air blasting down from the airco vents made it macabre. Yet the cadavers willed to science would teach us many things. I had been looking forward to this; a lot better than dissecting a frog or a foetal pig. "I see a corpse; so no longer a person. He is Caucasian, male, about seventy based on the facial wrinkles and muscle wasting. About twelve stone and five foot-nine. He's already been autopsied revealed by the stitched-up Y-incision up his chest. I assume that this man must have expired under either violent circumstances or those that required a coroner's inquest."

Mr. Carter, the anatomist, smiled at me. "Good. More?" He was a corpulent man of near sixty, given to obesity, with little pig-like dark eyes which looked at you as passionately as the bodies laid out in his anatomy lab. He nodded his bald head and motioned with a fleshy hand. "Come on!"

Edith Montgomery nudged me with an elbow, but I ignored her. "The facial features show sunken cheeks so he has lost most of his teeth, molars mostly, and he therefore wore partial dentures." I glanced down at Edith who was licking her lips for some odd reason, her green eyes twinkling at me.

Carter grinned. "Really? Do go on."

"Also work thick glasses, likely due to early cataract surgery. The nasal bridge and ears show distinct marks from long-term glasses usage. That would indicate frames provided by NHS services as they can be thick and heavy, plus the lenses would be glass, not polycarbonate plastic and they would have made those marks as they pressed on his face.

Carter nodded and tugged on his lip. "Anything else?"

I glanced down at his right hand. "Right handed and a smoker. So likely expired of an M.I. I have ruled out lung cancer for the body is not as gaunt as would be expected if that disease was present."

The instructor smirked. "Care to add halitosis or athlete's feet?"

I turned the body's right hand exposing a yellow nicotine stain on the pad of the thumb and index finger. "Smoker as I said. The calluses also indicate he wrote right handed."

I pushed past Edith and tugged down the sheet to expose the lower extremities. "The feet are mottled and pale with numerous varicosities across ankles and calves. This long surgical scar on left shin and another at ankle indicates orthopedic surgery; likely from a badly fractured tibia and fibula, so a fall?" I looked more closely at his leg. "No, I'm wrong. Not a fall. The left leg is a centimeter or two shorter than the right and there are numerous IV marks on the left ankle which is also lumpy and larger than the right. Add a broken ankle to the list. An accident then, not a fall. Motorcycle it was which required a long-term dose of antibiotics for osteomyelitis. Sometime when he was in his fifties, based on the pale appearance of the scar."

Carter came down to the foot of the table. "Why do you say motorcycle?"

I sighed and pointed. "Obvious. The skin of both left knee and forearm shows numerous lumps. If I dissected those there'd be small bits of gravel from a road accident. He wasn't wearing leather garments when the accident occurred."

Carter smirked. "Not halitosis?"

I sneered at the man then stepped back from the body and took my place behind Edith so she could see the specimen. The other students either glared at me or looked befuddled. Edith turned right around for a moment and gave me a huge smile. I'd only known her for a few days and she'd pretty much ignored me from day one, so I looked past her at the body on the stainless table.

Mr. Carter snatched a clipboard off a hook and lifted the top page. "Right." He scanned the pages and smiled at me. "Mr. X here was seventy-two and wore glasses and dentures. When he was fifty-three he suffered a road accident on his motorcycle. Badly fractured left lower leg and ankle. Required a long course to set him right. He smoked. Died of a myocardial infarction in a care home while visiting his sister who resided there." He clipped the clipboard back onto a hook on one of the table legs. "You got _all_ of it right. Plus more."

Edith had turned back to face the corpse, yet poked me with her elbow once more. "Too right, Ellingham, showing off?" she whispered over her shoulder.

" _Obvious_ if you only see," I said.

I had been joined in a cadaver lab group with Edith Montgomery, Parsons, and a thick-headed man named MacGregor.

Clearly Parsons was clearly not pleased to be in my company, but Edith seemed to be delighted, and James MacGregor was nearly jumping for joy.

"Martin, you're just the man I need," MacGregor muttered to me when the assignments were made. "That exhibition you gave back there was _bloody_ brilliant." The muscular Scot clapped me on the shoulder practically breaking my back for he was built like a bear.

I moved away lest I suffer further damage. That was Parsons' turn to shuffle over. He stuck out a hand. "Mate, about the other day, sorry. Looks like we're stuck with one another."

I scowled at him.

"Bygones be bygones mate?" he nearly pleaded.

I waved a hand to ward him away. "As you wish."

Parsons looked down at the hand he still held out then dropped it slowly. "Suit yourself."

The cadaver we got was a slender female, who couldn't have weighed more than eight stone. The data sheet told us she was 45 and had died of a fall. Disease or accident were the eternal levelers of life and the anatomy lad held twelve cadavers to be studied. At least we didn't get a huge fat one for it would make things all the more difficult.

We slowly made a general exam of the body, wrote up out notes, and left for the day.

Edith Montgomery stopped me in the corridor. "You seem to be rather intelligent."

"I try to be – hope that I am."

She stepped closer to me so we stood a few inches apart. "Ellingham it strikes me that you may be useful. So we should eat – tonight – my place."

"Martin?" Louisa asked me.

I shook my head clearing away memories of medical school. "Hm?"

"What does _I see_ mean?" she said coldly and crossed her arms. "You _see_. What _do_ you see Martin? _Hm_? I'm getting very tired of hearing that phrase."

I held my hands wide. "It's just a… uh… something people say."

Fire flashed across her face. "Martin if you've got _something_ to _say_ then _say_ it!"

"I expect that you must be rather cross with me."

"Oh?" She dropped her arms and blinked her eyes in surprise. "What for?"

With a wave of my hand I indicated her swollen abdomen. "This… your… uhm, this baby."

She gave me a faint grimace then she sighed. "Oh baby, Martin. It happened anyway."

"Anyway what?"

"I got pregnant anyway. We did use precautions."

"A contraceptive failure."

She stiffened and put a hand on her stomach. "Failure?"

"I mean the method failed. Not that we were… uhm… _failures_ at it. Obviously." That sounded odd. I looked up and down the path and seeing no one nearby I stepped closer to her just a foot apart. She looked up at me with brimming eyes and my throat got tight once more. "Louisa…"

"Martin you must be very cross at me." She shook her head sadly.

"Whatever for?"

She shrugged.

"Sorry for being _pregnant_?" I asked. _Now_ I was seeing her; how vulnerable she must be. Alone with no one to turn to, her home a room above the pub, a baby on the way, and until this afternoon her job unsettled. At least she got her old job I had been told by Penhale so at least the money situation ought to be better. But my Auntie Joan was right - she _was_ in trouble - and now I believed.

"Yeah," she said to me in a faint voice rubbing her arms though what must be a thin cardigan.

"I seem to recall that the female provides the egg and the male provides the sperm without which fertilization does not occur. I… I… was the…"

She held up her hands. "I _know_ how it works Mar-tin!"

"Then why are _you_ sorry? _You're_ the one who must carry… this… _baby_ to term and nurse it; care for it!"

That must have been the wrong thing to say for she whirled away from me and the lashing of her ponytail flailed me like a whip.

 **Author's notes:**

 **M.I. – Myocardial infarction, a heart attack**

 **Tibia and fibula – the two bones of the lower leg between knee and ankle.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

 **Collapse**

I'd done it again. Our kiss, the one she initiated under the tree after the concert, had been ruined by my horrid words. That lead to our breaking up, yet strangely it was what drove me to ask her to marry. Based on the looks of things it must have been about four weeks after that we got pregnant. Now here I was again, SAYING THE WRONG THING!

Louisa stood with her back nearly to me and I could see she was shaking. "Louisa?" I said, touching her shoulder lightly.

She shook her head like a horse might wave its head at a bothersome insect. "Was that all it was?" she moaned in a low voice.

"What? Oh the hm… our…." I stammered not certain how to continue. "When we…"

She spun to face me and I saw her face was wet. "When we made love? Was it just sex Martin? Hm? Just a male and female shagging away? If that's all you think it was… well to hell…"

"God NO!"

"With you," she finished. Then she hugged herself tightly, jaw clenched in anger, and fire replaced the brimming dampness of her eyes. "Well what was it to you? Fertilization and reproduction, all that medical claptrap! Holly was right! Totally unsuited, you and me. Oh I was _so_ right to leave – not to marry you."

"Holly? Who?" Oh yes, the ruptured vertebral disc – the cello player – her horrid friend from London, who likely cut me down to pieces when Louisa was there. The one I had nearly killed with that morphine. "No! Louisa that's not what I mean!"

"Oh?"

Screaming at one another wouldn't solve a thing. Of course she was angry, and _I_ was getting angry feeding off of her outburst. "Louisa…" I had to gulp hot saliva which flooded into my mouth as I felt my heart start to race. I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself. No! Not now!

"Cat got your tongue? Can't face it that you got me pregnant? Well don't _you_ worry about it, Mar-tin! It's not YOUR bloody problem! I can do it on my own!"

This was wrong; _all wrong_. I shook my head trying to clear it for I felt terrible. "Louisa, no, wait, that's… not right," I got out weakly. Now my vision was starting to get fuzzy at the edges and my ears were ringing.

She glared up at me. "This is _your_ baby _Doctor Ellingham_ , but you just go swanning along with…"

I shook my head and took a deep breath trying to get more oxygen into my system. "With uhm, _who_ exactly?" My brain wasn't functioning well at all as I felt a flush of perspiration break out on my body.

She seemed to bring herself up short then groaned, her angry face slipping into one of sorrow. "Sorry, sorry, Martin… I… didn't mean to say that. I suppose I just expected too much out of you." Her hands fluttered down to hold her abdomen which looked rock solid with the foetus growing in there.

That was my child, our child, and I was mucking it up, just like always; another failure of the former vascular surgeon. What _had_ she been saying? I stepped to the side and away from her so I could grip the railing of the path to steady myself. I heard her spluttering behind my back as I tried not to collapse. Panic attack – I was having a panic attack.

"That's right just walk away! Run away; that's how you do it," she added. "All the time."

I held the railing tightly, the rough wood rasping my palms and fingers. Look at the sea Martin, look at the ocean, take slow careful breaths; steady, don't get overly excited. The ocean ebbed and rose, a gull screamed somewhere below. Don't collapse here, the rocks underfoot will break a cheekbone or wrist, or give you a concussion.

"Martin? Look at me!"

I tried to focus on her voice. Louisa, don't… just give me a minute. Fuzzily I tried to center on her. Louisa, oh God I've missed you. Just stay, give few a few seconds, ten seconds, that's all.

"Mar-tin!"

I turned my head and she had hands on hips, belly and baps thrust my way, her eyes nearly starting from their sockets. "Uhm, yeah?" I said blearily.

"You haven't been listening! That's our problem! I talk and you don't listen; you _never_ listen."

I tried to speak but nothing came out so I watched her turn away with a flip of her hair and handbag messaging her turmoil. She took one step and then another until I managed to blurt out, "Louisa, I'm having a panic attack!"

"What?" I heard her say faintly but right then I had to bend over and rest my head on the railing for darkness came down rather quickly.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

 **Darkness**

Someone was touching my arm and calling my name. "Martin?" The voice was faint and far away.

I responded or tried to. "Uhm… yeah?"

"Martin? Come on! Wake up!"

Was it Nanny? There was the time mum put me in the cupboard under the stairs and I'd fallen asleep under there. Nanny got back from shopping and finding the house empty and quiet had thought to look there. Mum had left for I'd heard the door open and close some time ago. Mummy never hugged me like this.

"Martin? Oh you poor thing! What happened?"

Ought I to tell Nanny I'd been making noise and Mum didn't like it? She had a headache so had been lying down when I asked her for something to drink. Soon enough I was lying in the dark in the cupboard crying.

This voice sounded a lot like Nanny for it had a light tone, not harsh and demanding; more concerned and loving. That must be who it was. Nanny was the one who rocked me after I had been bad and been punished. She was the one who explained that sometimes Mummy needed her rest and making noise was part of being a child, but sometimes Mummy lost her temper just a wee bit. Maybe I could remember that?

I nodded my head. "Okay."

"Remember that your mum is…"

"What?" I'd asked. "What about Mummy?"

Nanny pressed her face into my shoulder and started to shake. "She's not like other mums dear one."

She'd done this before. I'd seen her screw her face up tightly as her hands got all twisted in her apron after Mummy had yelled at her or me. "Nanny, you okay? Don't be sad."

"I'm fine Marty. I'm just worried about you."

I pressed my forehead into her comforting shoulder. "My Auntie Joan and my Uncle Phil call me Marty," I informed her seriously. "They live on a farm down in Cornwall. Daddy says I can go there all Summer Holidays. Daddy told me not to be a bother when I'm away and Mummy told me she called them so I leave tomorrow!" I put my five-year-old arms around Nanny's neck. "You can come as well… maybe, if you ask Daddy nicely."

That made Nanny cry harder, but still softly. "Oh Marty, little one, I _will_ miss you."

A sudden fear hit me; worse than what I'd felt in the dark cupboard. "But won't you be here when I get home?"

Nanny rocked me ever so long that time. Finally she turned me so she could see my face. I saw her face had gone all red and blotchy and her eyes looked wet. "You _must_ remember, Marty, that _you_ are a fine boy, a good boy, and a very, _very_ smart one, and don't you _ever_ let _anybody_ try to convince you otherwise. Right? And even when… _if_ … I'm not here any longer you _don't forget_ what I told you. You are _strong_ – stronger than those parents of yours will _ever_ know."

I looked up at Nanny sensing that something was about to change; that a decision had been made and I could only suffer the consequences. _Consequences_ was a big word but I knew what it meant; like the dark cupboard or the paddle or no supper.

I managed to mutter, "I… I'm sorry… I must have, oh, I don't know… fallen asleep." My head was still fuzzy and thick, my mouth dry as I fought to find words. It was still dark - so dark.

The hand on my arm patted it and another snaked across my back. "Martin, just _stay_ there, don't move or you'll fall. Don't want you to get hurt."

Fall? No it _wasn't_ Nanny and I _wasn't_ in the dreadful cupboard. For Nanny, the nice one, the young one, was gone when I came home from Cornwall that Summer. I never forgot what she said, no matter what was happening to me. Inside I knew I was strong and smart and good, no matter what anybody told me to my face or behind my back.

So it must be _Edith_ Montgomery and I was in her bed. I'd fallen asleep right on the edge of her mattress, or rolled there, and she didn't want me to roll off. That was it. Must be.

The hands on my arm and back made sense. Right. I tried to will myself to move, but the voice commanded otherwise.

" _No_! Just stay there. Gosh I've never seen you do this before!" The arm around me pressed down. "Steady now."

Before? That's not right for this was my first time with Edith – that is sleeping over. She'd picked up a take-away dinner of beef, potatoes, and salad from down the street. It was good, but the beef was too rare to suit me. Edith had relished it as she chewed, eating like a tiger, the way she gnawed huge chunks of meat; so large I feared she would choke as she wolfed it all down.

Edith watched me with all her front teeth showing as she shoveled another bit of very rare and gory beef into her maw. "You don't like it?" she asked while poking a fork at my plate where my beef lay mostly untouched.

"I usually eat it medium."

She laughed. "Ellingham," she said and putting her fork down got up from table and came around to hug me. "You may take me to bed now," she whispered into my ear.

Yes in her bed, that must be it. It was dark and I'd fallen asleep after our nightly workout. That must be it. Edith was… commanding, no, _demanding_ in the bedroom. Any encounter with Edith Montgomery I immediately found out was to be under _her_ orders. How many times had she scoffed at my feeble attempts to be romantic? Too many to count.

"Good God, Ellingham!" she hissed in my ear, "Whatever are you playing at?" She then sighed in derision. " _I'll_ set _you_ right. Here, put your hand here, no _here_."

Her idea of instruction was much as a perfectionist surgeon would order his registrars about the operating theater. "Go here, do this, do that, Jesus Ellingham stop! Now! NO!"

Having little, well, not _any_ experience of such things she found me a willing pupil. It took some time for me to realize that she was using me for her own devices, and in return I used her as well. Not only did I share her bed but I tutored her through medical school for she was willing but a less than able brain. At times I was appalled by the lapse of memory or judgement she'd exhibit. When I'd comment about same she'd smile and say that she was relying on me to teach her.

Our relationship finally became toxic; one which could not have lasted, although I believed I loved her. She put paid to any plans I might have when she left for Canada and her further training, leaving what little of my heart remained in shreds.

Her departure was one more confirmation that I was unlovable, an incompetent wretch with the fairer sex. I was rubbish at making friends so why not having a lover? It all fit, didn't it? All the jigsaw pieces that wouldn't fit any pattern. So the voice calling me, pleading with me now, couldn't be Edith Montgomery. So _who_ was it?

"Mar-tin? I'm _calling_ for an ambulance!" pleaded the woman's voice.

I suppose that penetrated my mushy brains for I responded. "No! No… _ambulance_."

"Well you're draped over the railing like a dead mackerel! Are you okay?"

I cracked an unwilling eyelid open and from the darkness found myself peering at Louisa shocked face, the image upside down from my peculiar attitude. "Louisa? What?" I was hanging head down over a wooden rail; the cliff edge just feet away. Bloody hell! I was on the Coastal Path; that was it and I'd... passed out.

She stroked my back. "I think you _must have_ fainted. Shall I call for help? Think you can get up?"

I pushed myself more erect, while she held me steady from behind. " _No_. Let me… move," I protested.

Her face showed great concern. "You sure? We were talking and I thought you were _ignoring_ me; I wonder why I thought that? But then you muttered about a panic attack and sagged forward. Gave me a fright! You might have fallen right over the cliff!"

I took a few deep breaths then managed to lever myself nearly upright. "No… I'm fine. Just… give me a moment." I was disoriented after these spells and this was no different. The sea breeze was blowing in my face and gulped the damp air greedily. Yes, get your pO2 back up, Martin; keep your feet steady on the stones down there below those rubbery legs.

Louisa held me tightly while I was taking physiological and mental stock. "I thought… I thought…" she nearly blubbered. She was supporting me, holding me, keeping me from falling forward. The sea air was scented by her perfume, while her gentle arms and rounded body sent tactile messages which parts of my anatomy were desperately trying to respond to while my mind tried to suppress those same urges.

"I'm fine," I reassured her. "You don't have to hold me so tightly."

"Martin, I don't want you to fall. You went white as a sheet. This part of your blood thing?"

I considered how to answer.

She looked at the railing. "Did you cut yourself? That it? I don't see any blood."

"No…" I knew I had to say something.

"What happened?"

I closed my eyes then opened them, taking stock of her proximity, her bulging belly pressed against my hip, her hair wafting in the breeze, her cool hands bracing me, her pink lips, and red cheeks, her smooth skin, the way she could smile at me and light up a room.

"But you're alright now?" she asked.

Louisa was the light drawing me from the darkness so why was I trying to reject her?

"Martin?" she asked her head cocked.

I reached down and took her hands as she startled with a soft, "Oh."

 **Author's notes:**

 **pO2 – partial pressure of oxygen (O2) in the blood stream. Too low of an oxygen level or too high a CO2 (Carbon dioxide) level can cause fainting.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

 **Sustenance**

I was holding her chilled hands gently yet firmly, while Louisa stared up at me with guarded eyes.

"Martin? What are you doing?" she asked.

"No Louisa, what are _we_ doing?"

She tried to draw away but I pulled on her hands so we stayed in close contact. "What… what you mean we?"

I peered around and saw no one, but I lowered my voice anyway. "You, me, uhm… _us_."

She scoffed, "Martin there is _no_ us." He lip sprang between her teeth the way she did when she acted unsure. "Not… not anymore."

The child she was carrying was a firm and tangible presence between us for her belly was pressed against me. "When's… your due date?"

"What?"

"Please."

"Oh," she exhaled heavily. "July 25 or there about."

"Ah."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I stared at the crashing waves below. "So… the… uhm… day of the…" I could feel the tension in her arms so I slackened the grip on her.

Her head went down then she looked shyly at me. "End of October."

That was three weeks before we were to be married last Autumn. My mind started calculating.

"Martin I'm pretty sure it was the day after you had that late night emergency. We'd finished dinner and things were… well, then your mobile rang." **

I get so many calls like that. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"A walker? Bodmin Moor."

Then I remembered. "Yes a trekker, lost on the Moor. Stewart James the Ranger claimed his imaginary squirrel friend mentioned that someone was lost. _Mad_. But there was an injured man out there."

That's when she grinned. "You came back to my house awfully late, wet and cold."

Then I recalled the whole thing. I felt the faintest of smiles grow on my lips. "Hot tea on a cold day you said, the next morning."

Louisa dipped her head. "That… that _was_ … I mean I'm not _actually_ sure."

Human gestation was around forty weeks from the date of the last menses, so roughly ten lunar months. "Ah." Now I remembered that night and the next morning. She had been especially, no, _we_ had been especially carnal that night and in the morning as well. I looked hard at her while my mind went back. Twice was it or three times?

"Yeah, ah." She nodded almost ruefully. "The dates are right. That was when we… " She glanced down at her rounded abdomen. "You _know_."

"I see." Three times I was sure of it.

"As I said I didn't _mean_ to get pregnant. Not like I tried to trap you or anything."

"Don't be absurd! Has someone said that?

She wrinkled her nose and shrugged. "Oh, people have said _things_ _to_ me _as well as_ behind my back. You know; village gossips."

"Those people should shut it!" I sneered and dropped her hands. "What is wrong with this village?"

She backed up a step and took a very deep breath. "So…"

"How dare they!"

She shrugged. Her lip got that nervous bite again and she cocked her head. "What do you mean us?"

I observed how she was rubbing her arms. "That cardigan is rather thin Louisa. You need a warmer top if you're going to be out in the evening."

"Yeah, right," she snapped and turned to walk away. She took several steps then stopped and looked back. "You fit to get home? You did faint."

I slowly exhaled. "I ought to be."

She grinned. "Well good." Then she asked, " _Us_? Wot do you mean? Did you mean?"

I glanced at my watch and it was now nearly seven o'clock. I missed my dinner hour what with calling the hospital about Mrs. Tishell, taking a call from Penhale, and then trying to deal with my soaked suit and shoes. Plus I'd called Truro about a replacement mobile. Time had slipped away.

This was _the_ moment Martin – _don't_ muck it up I thought to myself so I took a deep breath and pivoted on my heel. "Have you eaten?"

"No, no I haven't."

The way she held herself with bulging belly thrust forward and shoulders thrown back in lordosis of pregnancy, counterbalancing the shift of pregnant uterus which altered her center of gravity, made her look vulnerable. She had no family to speak of, no siblings or cousins I knew of, no one at all. At least I had Joan. So I walked over to her and told her resolutely, "Come, Louisa, come to my house and I'll fix your supper."

"Oh?"

I nodded. "Yes you need sustenance. Joan brought me a chicken casserole today, plus I have salad greens and there's fruit for afters."

She froze for a minute. "What? Better say that again."

"Supper – my house?" I repeated softly.

"Oh," then she smiled and took my arm. "Yes Martin, I'd like that."

 **Author's notes**

 **** See my Doc Martin story "Aloha".**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

 **Kitchen Table**

The walk up to surgery was awkward. The distance between my right hand and her left could not have been more than 30 centimeters, not quite a foot, yet the mental space gaped hugely. Several times I looked to my right just as she turned her head to look at me and the feeling of shyness and separation was nearly overwhelming.

Her gait was different, that is, it was slower, and her paces were shorter, more of a rolling manner, with her swollen abdomen swaying from side to side. I slowed my steps to match hers. "This hill must be hurting your back," I told her.

"No, it's these shoes – sore feet."

I glanced downward. "Wear flat shoes; no heels during the duration of your, uhm… until the baby is born. Not those. They'll put strain on your back and pelvic joints."

Her pony tail flipped back and forth. "I _know_ , I _know_ , but my others have sand in them."

"Right." That was the other bit, people generally would talk, that is other people, yet I didn't. Louisa talked, a lot actually, but in public with me? Well, it was strange But we didn't do that. This was a mistake, part of me was whispering while other voices in my head were telling me to go on. Go with the flow Doc! The last was Bert.

"You okay?" she asked once or twice and I could but nod. "I don't want you conking out on me like you did before."

"I'm fine," I told her, for by now I felt to be on an even keel at least physically. But that wasn't a purely physical collapse was it Martin? No it was your mind affecting your body, right? That little niggling voice kept on criticizing.

I observed various villagers gawping at us, so I stared right through them or glanced away, while Louisa gave a little nod of her head or answered in a soft, "Hello." From the corner of my eye I saw Mrs. Tishell standing in the chemist's doorway, shaking her head with her hands to her cheeks. Fool woman! Go inside Mrs. Tishell; mind your own business I wanted to shout at her.

Louisa took my arm and if anything slowed down. What was she doing? She rolled her eyes when I glanced at her and her hand squeezed my arm so I kept moving. We finally got off the Platt and were walking up Rosscarrock Hill and I was certain tongues were wagging behind us.

Louisa must have felt some discomfort as well. "Martin, it's fine. Keep walking."

" _Those_ people," I mumbled but replied, "Mm," to her blandishments.

"Really."

I glanced at her and she was nearly grinning at me; the sort of apologetic grin that might mean she too was uncomfortable. "Louisa, we _don't_ have to do this."

"Oh? Thought you invited me to supper? Now you're changing your mind?"

Air hissed from my nose, "No."

She took my arm and held it close. "Come on, Martin, we've given the _whole_ village a _show_ might as well go _all the way_." Her face turned bright red, "I mean, the rest of the way… no, I mean up to your _cottage_."

"Yes," I barked for I'd got that innuendo.

"Sorry, wrong choice of words," she replied. "Not what I meant to say, or mean."

We were finally at the steps up the front terrace by the house. "Here," I said shifting her bodily ahead of me, "watch the step there, that slate's a bit loose, and let me take your hand." I stumbled over my words trying to get her up the steps.

"I'm _not_ a cripple Martin," she moaned.

"Louisa, I'm merely ensuring that you don't fall!"

She mounted the steps then turned to peer down at me. "Well then thank you."

"You're welcome," I said, ducking my head. I lead her around to the kitchen door and opened it. "Go through."

She beamed. "Thank you Martin."

I stepped to the sink, washed and dried my hands and switched on the power to the cooker than set the oven for heating. "It will take some little time to warm."

Louisa stood by the table fiddling with her handbag. "Anything I can do?"

I was thinking of when we drank all that wine. It was a strange evening, almost our celebration of being rid of Danny Steel. "No."

She looked around. "Well then perhaps I'll use the loo."

"Ah." Pregnancy causes pressure on the bladder as the uterus becomes larger when it rises from the pelvis. From the look on her face I assumed she expected a lecture.

"Feel like I have to wee all the time." She looked at me oddly when I didn't respond.

I shrugged.

"No comments about the waterworks?"

"No." I sensed a minefield so I turned to the fridge and took out makings for a salad.

"I'll do that," Louisa told me. "Be back in a tick."

Her tick was quite lengthy, long enough for the oven to grow hot, so I put in the casserole. Louisa came back as I was shutting the oven door.

She glanced at her watch. "Sorry, I… took so long."

"Twenty minutes." I started to set the table.

She was just standing there twisting her handbag, holding her sweater over her arm.

"You can put that on the sideboard and if you want to start the salad?"

She shook herself. "Right." She washed her hands then began to tear the lettuce leaves I had washed. "Just lettuce?"

"There's a small tomato there and some carrots."

She busied herself, slicing the tomato into wedges and dicing two carrots after peeling them.

I noticed how she had to stand well back from the counter, trying to lean over the bulge where her waist had been.

She caught me watching her. "Sorry. Hard at times."

I reached across her, picked up the cutting board piled with ingredients, and scraped them into the bowl she was holding. I found myself holding the salad bowl at the same time as she, nearly in a tug of war.

She let go of the bowl. "Sorry Martin." Then she rubbed her lumbar region. "Sore."

"You should lie down."

She shook her head. "Oh, no, I couldn't."

I pointed to the sofa. "Take off your shoes, put your feet up. There's a rug there if you feel chilled. The casserole isn't ready yet."

I could tell she was startled. "Oh no."

"Louisa you need rest; the baby needs you to rest."

"I did have a lie down after the beach thing."

"Have another."

She shook her head. "Martin, what are we doing?"

"I'm preparing your dinner and telling you to rest. Now will you? Rest?"

She closed her eyes briefly. "Okay, just for a little while." She gingerly crossed into the parlor, took her shoes off and stretched out on my sofa, carefully arranging her skirts so her legs were demurely covered. I saw the way her neck was propped at a strange angle so making a frustrated sigh I went to her, pulled her head forward, and jammed another pillow under it then lowered her head down against it.

She looked at me with startled eyes. "You scared me for a minute."

I looked at her for a long few seconds, then returned to the kitchen to mix a vinaigrette.

"You didn't answer my question," she said.

"What's that?"

"I asked what we're doing."

I stared down into the sink after washing my hands.

"Martin?"

I turned and looked at her where she lay on the sofa. "Dinner will ready in perhaps fifteen minutes."

"That's not what I asked."

"I know," I replied.

She nodded, biting on her lip. She looked into the fireplace but her eyes swung back to me. "Martin?" A slim hand waved to me. "Come over here."

The way she was looking at me made my heart race and my throat felt tight, but I walked to her and stood near her. "Yes?" What was she going to say? Her hair was a bit messed up from the pillow and I wanted to reach out and smooth the stray strands, but I locked my elbows.

Louisa nodded. "Right. I want you to know…"

Right then the surgery phone starting ringing. Her eyes fell as I cocked my head at it. "Some idiot or other," I told her.

The phone buzzed a few times then the answer-phone started to take the call, but I heard the call drop.

She rolled her eyes. "Wrong number?"

"Like I said." I examined her face and it looked softer; less under stress. She yawned. "You're tired."

"Yep." She tried to sit up a little pushing with her elbows. "Martin… I want to say…"

Every muscle in me froze. "Yes?"

She started to fiddle with her hair. "When I came back… actually… well _one_ of the reasons I came back to the village is…"

The phone started bleating again so I stomped into reception to answer.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

 **Supper**

I took up the phone, "Portwenn surgery – we're closed!"

"Hello?" asked a quavering male voice in a smooth and upper-crust London accent.

"Surgery's closed! Make an appointment with the girl in the morning!"

"My my, calm down now. You _are_ Martin Ellingham?"

"If it's an emergency call 9-9-9. Who is this by the way?"

"You don't know me. This is Arthur Pickles."

I wracked my brain for the name was unknown to me. "Why are you calling?" Likely a solicitation for a charity.

"No. Well this is awkward; you see I was _trying_ to reach _Louisa Glasson_."

His words hit me hard. "Yes?"

"You see I and my wife, Audrey, became friends of Miss Glasson when she worked in London. Audrey worked in her school you see and she, my wife that is, got an awful feeling today – tried to call Miss Glasson several times in the last hour. But the mobile keeps going to voice mail, see? So my Audrey's worked herself into a fright, right? She's convinced herself that something bad's happened to the girl. I told her we could try calling you. Looked you up on the computer. Perhaps you know where she is and how she is?"

I set the handset down and went back to the parlor. "It's for you."

Louisa looked up with wide eyes. "What? Who's calling?"

"Someone named Albert Pillock, or something like that. From London. Claims you worked with his wife."

She looked blank for a moment. "I'm sorry I don't…" Understanding then seemed to dawn on her. "Oh _Arthur Pickles_. Gosh." She clambered off the sofa and went into the other room where I heard her start an animated and happy-sounding conversation.

I regarded the empty table set for two, then sat down and drank some water. I heard Louisa laughing and thought how much happier she seemed when she talked to other people. I was glum and morose, or downright rude, as was my custom. I hadn't got the knack of chit-chat; never did. So when I faced Louisa, I… I really had no idea what to say. How was your day? Considering she'd be attacked by a madman that was a non-starter. How was your hospital visit? Borders on the medical and she told me the pregnancy was not my problem.

No; wrong, Ellingham! Her pregnancy, not _the_ pregnancy for that was _our_ baby growing inside her. I sighed. Maybe it was our pregnancy. Best to steer clear of that at the moment.

After ten minutes or so I heard her saying her goodbyes then she came into the kitchen. Louisa looked anxious in some way, but her eyes were twinkling. I cleared my throat. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, that was Arthur and his wife Audrey. She was my school secretary up in Town. Lovely couple."

"Ah." I checked my watch. "The dish ought to be hot by now." I withdrew the ceramic dish from the oven, put it on a hot pad and lifted the lid. Aromatic steam rose and I heard bubbling below. "Hm, likely warm enough."

I studiously ignored Louisa for she seemed to be wiping an eye, as I spooned out healthful portions of potatoes, carrots, onions and a dense layer of chicken, a mixture of dark and white meat, onto two plates. I dressed the salad with the vinaigrette and transferred plates and salad bowl to table.

She said, "Nice. This looks…" she turned her face away, "lovely." She held the chair back and I saw how her hands seemed to go white as she gripped it.

"Anything wrong?"

"No, no, Audrey, well she said she felt all strange today and thought of me. Said she felt all gooseflesh around midafternoon and that was aboit when Mr. Strain was having his little set to."

I shook my head. "Poppycock."

"Martin I hadn't spoken to her for a week or so and she's a friend. They took care of me."

"Distant reading, ESP, mind reading, all that's rubbish." I added a plate of sliced bread and butter for extra carbohydrates. I might eat one piece it that, but Louisa enjoyed bread. Just don't give her dietary advice. I cleared my throat. "Problem?"

"No. Only…"

"What?"

She grinned briefly. "Let's eat shall we?" Her hand started to pull the chair out, so I abruptly jumped up, ran around the table and pulled out the chair for her.

"Thank you Martin," she said softly.

"Mm."

She settled herself then sipped at her water.

I recalled the way she drank wine sitting right across from me, but I suppressed the too obvious comment about her avoiding alcohol.

She was holding the water glass and looked from me to it and back. "No, Martin, I haven't touched any wine since I found out I was expecting."

"I'm certain you have been following all the prenatal instructions." I forked some of the chicken into my mouth and chewed slowly.

Her eyes darted away from me. "It's true and before that as well. When I… when I went to London I hadn't been feeling well, upset tummy, so I wasn't in the mood for drinking."

"That was likely due to nausea of early pregnancy."

"Right."

"Were you very sick?" I asked.

"No. Just a few weeks and only in the morning. Dry bread or biscuits helped." She chewed some salad. "The pub's salads are pretty much rubbish."

"As expected."

She nodded. "A real home-cooked meal is very nice."

"Lettuce provides some dietary fiber. Carrots and tomatoes are sources of…"

I saw she'd quit moving and was now staring at me. "What?"

She held up her hands. "Martin, I don't actually _want_ a dietary lecture."

"Right. I hope I wasn't lecturing."

Louisa shook her head. "Perhaps not. So thank you Martin."

"My Aunt Joan cooked it Louisa, I'm merely serving it."

She waved her fork over her plate. "I don't mean for the food, well _yes_ it's for the meal, it's just that staying in the pub and eating there sometimes – all the rest is take-away – isn't much fun."

I considered this. "Expensive as well."

"Yeah."

We chewed silently for some time. "So with Mr. Strain gone from school, I understand you will be Temporary Head Teacher," I asked.

"Will he get better?" she asked me.

"Depends. The metabolites which cause his disorder can take time to be flushed out of his system, but I shouldn't be discussing patient details."

"Right." She buttered a piece of bread and peered at it.

"What?"

She put the bread down and pushed her chair away from the table.

"Louisa?" I watched while she walked into the parlor, while chewing on a knuckle.

She was now facing the window. "The harbor, all of it, it's very pretty."

I wrinkled my nose. "If you ignore the poverty, the lack of education, the habit the villagers have of being both accident-prone and virus laden. Oh right; a garden spot!"

She whirled and glared at me. "Must you? Ruin everything?"

I ducked my head. "Louisa, I speak my mind. You know that."

"Yes! I bloody well know Martin! That's _part_ of what got us here – you – me – _this_." She thrust her pelvis forward lead by her rotund belly. "This baby! _Our_ baby!"

I'd done it, crashed through a patch of thin ice. "I…"

She marched across the room, leaned across the table and got right in my face. "Look at _you_ Martin; all high and mighty! Never made a bloody mistake in your life, unlike the rest of us! Oh yes, _Mr. Doctor Perfect_!"

I took a deep breath and blew it out. "I've upset you."

"Yes you have Martin! Having a nice dinner, a bit of a chat and I thought we might actually be getting _somewhere_!" She leaned closer and I could feel her warm breath on my cheek. "But no _you_ go right ahead and keep hanging about with your girlfriend Edith, got it?" Louisa stood up straight and turned to leave.

"Dr. Montgomery isn't my girlfriend, Louisa," I said to her back.

"What?" She turned to face me.

I shook my head at her. "Hard to say if she was at all what I thought she was. That's over and done with."

"But she was here the other night!"

"Edith came to see if it was true I'd actually given up surgery and to discuss the latest BMJ."

Louisa tilted her head. "Oh?"

"I was surprised she had any interest in seeing me at all."

"Why's that Martin?"

I sighed. "I _thought_ I was in love with her then – back in school. Asked her to marry but she went to Canada instead." I felt my face twist at that bitter recollection. "So _no_ Louisa, Edith's _not_ my _girlfriend_ ; just colleagues but I _was_ surprised when she came by."

Louisa chuckled. "You've no idea do you?"

"About what?"

She shook her head sadly. "You're tall and good looking, you always dress smart, and are a very, very good doctor. Best doctor Portwenn ever had. And poor thing you have _no_ idea how a woman like Edith Montgomery would find you attractive."

"Attractive? No, no, she wanted to…"

Louisa fixed me with a stare. "Martin all you have to do is crook a finger and she'd be all over you like hair on a dog. I could see it from a mile away."

"Oh no, that's not right!"

Louisa frowned. "Oh yes, Martin; the way Edith mentioned you at hospital, asked me questions about you, and oh why did I come back to your village?"

"It's not my village."

"Carrying the torch is that one."

"Don't be absurd!"

Louisa shook her head. "Still."

"Louisa, I haven't thought of Edith Montgomery for _over_ twenty years! I only stumbled across her in Truro Hospital in the A &E department because of Joan's friend who was knocked off her bike by Clive Tishell!"

She shook her head at me again.

"What?"

She pointed down at the table. "You're supper's getting cold."

"Louisa…" I moaned. "Please."

Her head whipped around. "And here I was thinking I should tell you…"

"Should tell me what Louisa?"

She turned away. "Oh never mind. Where's my bag?"

I mutely pointed to where it was on the floor by the sofa.

She stomped to the article and snatched it up after clumsily bending down. She took a step towards the door but what I said next stopped her.

"You should stay."

Her head slowly cranked to face me. "What's that?"

I swallowed hot saliva as I walked around the table with shaking knees to stand closer to her. "Louisa you should stay. I _know_ that you said that the baby wasn't my problem. That's _wrong_. It is part of me and you obviously, and…" I waved a hand in vague circles. "Your parents are…"

She glared at me but I went on. "Elsewhere. Plus you're living over the pub, having Joan cart you back and forth to hospital for med checks is all well and good but that can't last. And just what will you do when the baby's born? Hm? When it cries all night or gets a fever or you're dead on your feet from working and caring for it? What then?"

Her eyes closed and she made a faint moan. "I don't know. But I'll figure it out."

I slowly approached her. "Louisa I know you, _we_ , didn't get pregnant _on_ _purpose_ , that it's all gone horribly off the rails with us, and the snarky gossips down the hill will have their jaws flapping away seeing the two of us come up here."

"Yeah." She crossed her arms and pressed them to herself. "Didn't mean to snap."

"I know." If we'd gotten married no one would have been the wiser. They'd have said the old Doc wasted no time getting his wife up the duff. It would have been true but all the gossips would have not berated us both for not getting married, our separation, and now this – the surprise of a pregnant and single Miss Glasson. I wished to touch her, hug her, and kiss her soft lips, but this wasn't the time or place. I offered her supper. Let's leave it at that. I tried to stand straighter and back away from her by an inch.

She slowly turned; eyes darted around the room, and then looked up at my eyes. "Now what?"

"Supper."

She mutely let me lead her back to the table and we began to eat. After a silent meal broken only by the sound of forks and knives against plates and the muted sound of chewing, we were finished.

I cleared our plates away. "More water? There's fruit for afters plus cheese, nuts as well, if you… would… care for any? Tea?"

She tipped her head towards reception. "That phone call."

"Yes?"

"My friend reminded me of something."

"Mm?" I watched her closely. The way she held herself, seemingly not breathing, trying to say something but not. I knew that look. I saw it in the mirror everyday since she had gone to London. It was the look of her fighting with herself, but I was too restrained to ask her what it was.

Louisa tipped her head and looked at me very closely. "No, I'd better wait for that."

"Hm."

Louisa stood up. "Let me use the loo and I'll do the washing up."

"Not necessary."

She reached over the table and patted my hand. "Let me help."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

 **Feeling**

We cooperated cleaning the dishes, she washing while I dried each item. It didn't take long. I sealed the leftovers of the main dish inside a glass container with a snap on plastic lid while Louisa filled the sink with hot water and washing powder.

It was just a few minutes of companionable silence, broken only by the swish of water and suds, scrubbing of plates, utensils, and glasses, then cleaning Aunt Joan's casserole dish.

Louisa watched the water flow away after opening the drain then she carefully rinsed the sink surfaces clean with fresh water. I caught her making furtive glances toward me at the end, so I asked her, "Problem?"

Louisa smiled slightly. "No, not really." She dried her hands on the fresh towel I gave her, and then removed the apron she had put on. "Where shall I put this?"

I took it from her outstretched hand and our fingers touched briefly. I felt her jump when her skin grazed mine, so I moved away. She likely wanted none of that from me, now or ever, for when I had tried to ask her _things_ she shied away.

The apron I draped on the hook behind my pantry door then turned around. Louisa was looking at me, with head cocked and a faraway expression on her face.

"Yes?" I asked.

She pressed her hands against her side. "That was nice."

"Yes."

"Dinner."

"Right."

We stood like for a few seconds, watching each other.

"So…," she started to say. "I… uhm."

"Yes?"

"I'll best be off. You know. Papers to mark; have to think about the school staff."

I ducked my head. "Right."

"Sorta prepare what to say to them all. Perhaps write a letter to the parents to explain that Mr. Strain will be away."

"That would be wise, but haven't you met already, the staff; told them about Mr. Strain?"

She nodded. "Yep, briefly. But I will meet with each of them individually. Tomorrow."

"Ah. So you think you ought to be reading their personnel files tonight."

"Yeah."

I checked my watch. "It's nearly eight."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Rather late for that sort of thing. Louisa, you… you need rest."

She nodded. "Suppose so." Her arms waved back and forth. "Been a very long day. So… anyway…"

"Uhm, would you care for coffee?" IO blurted out. "No, not, uhm, in your condition, caffeine is contraindicated…"

"Gosh no."

I turned back to the cupboard. "I believe there is decaffeinated tea." I rummaged around finding a box holding teabags. "Pauline bought these. Can't bear the stuff myself. What's the point?"

Louisa grinned. "You'll have espresso?"

I shook my head. "Too late. Eating after 6:30 will have upset my usual…" I stopped. What was I saying? Rubbish. "Louisa?"

Her head came up sharply from where she seemed to be inspecting the floor. "Yes Martin?" Her eyes were wide; her face with what seemed expectant.

"This is wrong," I said. Ideas were battering my brain, telling me to tell her what I felt.

"Martin?"

I sighed. "We don't _have_ to be this way, do we?"

"Whatcha mean Martin?"

I shrugged and then waved a hand to indicate the space between us, more mental than physical.

"Ah," she replied. "You and me."

I nodded. "Right."

She peered down at her swollen abdomen. "This." Her left hand rose and stroked it, pushed on it gently. "Come here."

"What?"

Her hand waved me forward so I took two halting steps. Her fluttering hand grabbed mine and pressed it against her abdomen, her cool fingers holding mine curved around the warm surface. "Feel that?"

I immediately felt a tiny thump, and then a strong push as a shock raced up my arm like electricity.

Her gray eyes held mine. "Feel that?"

I grunted. "Mm. Foetal…." I cleared my throat, "movements." There was a developing human being in there, a combination of my sperm and Louisa's egg and there it was. Fact Martin. Right there, waiting it's time to mature enough to be born; its mother the woman I had wanted to marry and almost did. But I'd have made her miserable. So here we were together yet apart and I felt both rotten and a heel.

Her hand felt rather sweaty on my fingers. "Yes." Her eyes seemed to bore into mine. "You and me and this – _baby_ – _our_ _baby_ , Martin. So what are we going to do about it? Hm?" Louisa looked up at me with eyes which seemed to be suddenly very watery.

What was I to answer? Stay? Please, Louisa? Suddenly there was a loud banging on my front door as well as the buzzer sounding.

"Oh God," I groaned as Louisa's hand dropped mine.

I concentrated my hearing to the noise and made out a muffled voice. "Hello? Doc? You in there?"

"You'd better get that," she said sadly. "Might be a patient."

I angrily marched to the door and threw it open. Joe Penhale was standing there with a foolish grin; but of course that was his usual look.

"You okay Doc?" he queried. "Mike Chubb said he saw _you_ and _Louiser_ going past the pub and that _you_ looked rather peaky. _Sick like_." His eyes looked past me into the house. "Oh, hello Louiser, our new Miss Portwenn Temporary Acting Head Teacher. The teacher bit; not that Portwenn is new, the village is pretty old. How does it feel?"

Louisa muttered coldly, "Hello Joe."

Penhale turned his attention back to me. "But you're okay?" he asked. "Can't have our village GP down for the count, can we? Can I help? Do you need my assistance? How can I help? Feelin' okay, Doctor Ellingham?"

What I was feeling was extreme irritation. "I'm fine," I snapped at him. Must there always be an interruption? "Go away."

Penhale nodded. "That's good. I mean, if you're _sick_ or something's amiss I can be your man, or your backup, whatever you need! Buck you up if you need help, right? You and me, we're sorta the law in these parts. Well… I mean I'm the law and you're the…"

"Doctor," I barked back and tried to close the door but found it firmly held from inside by Louisa.

"Joe," she told him, "Martin just felt a little… well he's _fine_ now, aren't you?" She patted my arm. "Right as rain."

Joe's eyes swept from her to me then back to her and then he grinned. "Good, good. Say Mr. Strain was awfully apologetic by the time I got him to hospital. He told me to tell you that he was sorry Louiser."

"Not his fault," I told him.

"He was sick," Louisa added.

"Right," Penhale said. He snapped his fingers. "You know, I was feelin' a might peckish myself, so if you two, like you're feelin' hungry or thirsty… you could… well, at the pub, _join_ me?" he asked hopefully.

"Good bye," I told him and shut the door in his fool face.

 **Author's note:**

 **Reviews of this chapter indicate some reader dismay with Penhale interrupting our happy couple. I will remind you this IS Portwenn after all where things rarely go "right."**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

 **Friends**

"Idiot," I muttered to the closed door.

But Louisa tried to soothe me. "No, Martin, Joe's not an idiot! Must you always be so harsh? Honestly."

"Well, what you call Penhale?"

She blinked her eyes at me. "I think he, as a friend, wanted to check on you. He heard you might be sick, so he came to see if you were alright."

"Humph."

"Don't humph at me, Martin!" she cautioned.

I shook my head at her.

She went on, "Well Joe is, or wants to be your friend, got it?"

I turned away from her. Friends. Humph, friends, no thanks. I had friends or those I _thought_ were my friends, who then turned on me.

She tugged on my sleeve. "Martin, Joe is, well he's Joe, right? And he wants to be your friend, just like Mark Mylow or Roger Fenn wanted to be."

I shook my head at her. "No thanks."

"So you don't need any friends, that it? Hm?" Her eyes glared at me. "All alone up here in your castle? The drawbridge up and locked?"

I had needed, no _wanted_ friends at one time, but that had passed. I had been burned and abused far too often.

"Martin! There's lots of folks who would want to be your friend!"

I sighed at her. "Oh?" My hand waved towards the front window as if to say 'and who out there would be my friend?'

"I mean it!" she nearly shouted. "I…"

"I don't need…."

"Oh no Martin! Don't you say that! _Everybody_ needs friends! Even you!"

Did I need friends? I looked more closely at her face and then I knew. "I'll tell you what I need," I told her softly.

She nearly recoiled and one hand began to play with her hair. "What… what, uhm, that's Martin?"

How can I tell her? Tell her the horrible winter and spring it has been? She was gone – up to London. There wasn't a minute of an hour of a day or a week or month I hadn't thought about her. What was she doing, how was she in London? London's a far cry from Cornwall and though Louisa had gone to school up there, there was a massive difference between the two places.

I had imagined her as a lost little girl adrift in that sea of humanity. Oh London I knew, the shops and thronged streets, the beeping taxis and buses, the rushing Tube, bright lights, and noise of the place and how it could eat up country people.

I hadn't wanted Louisa to be damaged by London; be made harsher or to be made less caring. But here she was bearing our baby trying to buck _me_ up; telling me what I needed.

But of course I had missed her with an ache that physically hurt, for when she was absent I was diminished and found it easier then to complain louder, to bark at my thoughtless patients with unbridled fierceness.

One frigid February day Pauline came into my examination room and closed the door, looking sheepishly at me, while she held patient notes out of my reach. "Doc, have you called her?" At least she had enough sense to cover her usual outlandish costume with a heavy cardigan, so my senses weren't subjected to the usual riot of colors she wore.

My mind was still awash with the latest assault of dim-wittedness from Mrs. Hooper who had decided to start dosing herself with some smelly concoction she'd whipped up herself instead of the anti-inflammatories she required for her rheumatoid arthritis. The fool woman cracked open a smelly jar of green goop under my nose, explaining it was beach sand with a mixture of seaweed, sassafras, and carrot juice explaining she heated it and applied it as a poultice.

The putrid smell made me gag. I swept the glass jar from her hand then marched straight out the front door to the bin and deposited the witch's brew into the container. The smell still lingered in my office and I was getting a stress headache right behind my left eye.

"What?" I said to my so-called receptionist.

"Louisa. Remember her? About five six, chestnut hair, gray eyes?"

"None of your business," I grunted as I tried to take the notes from her hand but she held them further away. I snapped my fingers. "Give."

"No, Doc, look, just call her. Has she called you? If she has I'd have known if she called during office hours unless she called your mobile. But she hasn't. So the ball's in your court."

I glared at her until she grudgingly handed me the patient notes. I snatched them away and pulled the stiff card from the sleeve. The card itself had been covered with a large yellow sticky note.

"Just when Al was in Africa I missed him, boy did I miss him. But I was stubborn, angry you know, and didn't want to give in so I just stewed in my own juices. If that big idiot hadn't been so head strong and would have called for help…"

"Pauline! Shh!" I peered down at the sticky note and the printed hand writing. "Now wait a minute!"

Pauline smiled. "In case you forgot, that's Louisa's mobile number. Just call her, Doc. What have you got to lose? Just say hello."

My headache exploded into a full bore thing which clouded my vision for a moment. "Pauline… this is none…"

She shook her head. "I can see it, Doc and I'm not the _only_ one who can see you're sufferin' fierce. You giant dimwit just _call_ her. All this time it must be tearin' your heart out. If you _had_ a heart… a regular Tinman you are."

I caught a weak smell of Louisa's scent – Kenzo Flower with a dash of hair conditioner, a faint aroma of our chicken dinner from her lips, the slightest whiff of her lipstick, the sense as well she was a real life human being that I let inside my castle, then watched as she walked away after we agreed to part.

"Martin?" she said as she backed up a step.

"Louisa, _thank you_ , for helping me… up there on the path."

"Of course. The fainting part."

I ducked my head.

"What caused a panic attack then? Was it like what happens when you see blood?"

I nodded. "Somewhat."

"But what caused it?"

"Louisa, that phone call for you?"

"Oh, yeah, Audrey and Arthur. Good to hear from them."

"Why did they call?"

"Audrey was convinced I was hurt or something."

"But Strain didn't harm you, fortunately."

"Thank God for that. But Audrey felt I needed _something_ , so she called. What about it?"

When I saw the wavy outline through my kitchen door two weeks ago, my heart had leapt into action; speeding up, pounding in my ears. I'd dared not hope it was Louisa, for I'd been fooled once in the school by another teacher with dark hair like hers. It was the same reaction I always got when I glimpsed her outline, the back of her head, or the curve of her elbow as I came around a corner in Portwenn. God I had missed her and then she was standing right on my doorstep with an embarrassed look to her face and jutting out belly that told everyone of our successful yet also failed lovemaking. "This Audrey person was worried."

"Yeah, yeah, you know; just a funny feeling, she told me, but you told me that's all rubbish."

I watched her face for a few seconds. She was the closest thing to a friend I had in this ill-begotten and back-water place. Would I let her leave again? Seemed I was good at it. "Ahm, would you care for afters? Or tea?"

"Getting late," she said. "Better be… you know." She turned about went to the sofa and picked up her cardigan and her handbag. "I'll be off."

I was standing rigidly by the door wishing for something to change.

"So, Martin, thank you for dinner. It was nice," she told me.

"Yes." I'd fallen into default monosyllable mode.

She nodded her head once or twice. "So…"

I moved aside so she took the doorknob in hand.

I blurted out, "That phone call, from your London friend. You said she reminded you of something."

She looked at the floor. "Doesn't matter." Louisa turned the knob and pulled open the door. "Dinner was…"

"Good, yes, I'm glad that we ate together." I had the same feeling I had on the Coastal Path; that things were sliding away out of reach as the door swung open. "If…"

"Yes?" she asked somewhat hopefully.

"If you notice any discomfort, uhm, after the beach thing, call me. You're sure your spine is fine? No stiffness? And no… uhm... contraction feelings – which might be a sign of early labor?"

She beamed. "Doctor Ellingham – always taking care of his patients."

"You're _not_ my patient, Louisa. I was - _disappointed_ by that - but you _were_ right, _are_ right. Considering our… connection, that would… be..."

"Odd."

"Inappropriate, yes. But if it is emergency? Anything at all; if you have any concern? Call."

She closed her eyes a moment. "Audrey Pickles reminded me that I needed something in London, Martin."

"You lost your job."

She shook her head. "It was, uhm… something _else_. I lost my job later."

My mouth had gone dry "So this thing was?"

She pulled her cardigan over her torso, got it settled and then slung her brown leather handbag over her shoulder. Her eyes squinted out into the dusk, so I switched on the front light.

She glanced back at me and I saw her lip twitch. "You," she whispered then stepped though and closed the door behind her.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

 **Missing**

I stared at the closed door wondering what she meant. Of course I wasn't in London; I was here. No wait. She said that in London she had needed something, and that was _me_. What? What _did_ she mean?

I tugged desperately at the knob and the door opened to a sight of Louisa nearly stepping from my front terrace onto the steps leading down to the street. She must have heard the door open for she looked back and her face fell when she saw me step out. She stopped her motion and turned to face me squarely. I walked right up to her as she stared back at me.

"Ah… Louisa."

"Martin?"

"You said, ahem, I wasn't in London?"

She nodded. "Well, I mean, you were here and I was." She touched her belly as she ducked her head. "There."

"But you're back now; in the village, your village."

She nearly smiled. "Yes, yes I am."

That mirrored her answer when I exclaimed over her obvious pregnancy.

I recalled what she had said about London. She was thirty-seven, alone, single, and pregnant. "You must have been…" I stopped.

"What _must_ I have been Martin?" Her other hand played nervously with her long ponytail.

I looked across the harbor where more lights were coming on in the deepening summer dusk. "Louisa…"

"Martin? Well what do you think I was?"

"By yourself."

Her eyes rolled.

I shook my head at her. "Louisa… this… _thing_ …"

"What thing? The baby?"

I shook my head. "No, I mean, ah, yes, that's part of it. But what about you and me?"

"Don't know," she answered sadly.

"When you arrived here at surgery, why was that?"

She winced. "To… tell you about the baby; our baby of course. I owed you that much – you finding out from me and not some meddlesome villager."

"Ah, yes, thank you for that; for telling me." God knows it was a shock and from what Auntie Joan told me it was a shock to everyone else as well. My aunt had implied that Louisa was in trouble; single and pregnant, teeming with hormones, _and_ she had no one to turn to. Was that really why she came by to tell me? Or was there more? Just by looking at her, I wasn't at all sure she was telling the complete story.

She crossed her arms. "If you don't mind it is getting rather chilly and I need to go." She pointed downhill with her head; a quick and anxious motion. "The pub."

What had I said to her once? When I asked her to marry me? Please, Louisa, I can't live without you. Did she feel the same?

She turned to go and at the steep top step nearly stumbled but with a quick dart of my hand took her elbow and saved her from a nasty fall. "Careful Louisa! My God you might have…" Her liquid eyes looked greener and deeper in the half light, showing some fear, from her misstep. "Gotten hurt."

"Thanks, Martin. I'd not want to fall here."

I said. "No… don't…"

"Don't?"

All the months of longing, her rejections both old and new, plus my own dumbfounded and tongue-tied words that wouldn't emerge somehow tried to come out. The feelings of longing and loneliness were screaming at me, so I took deep breath and gasped out, " _Don't_ go, Louisa. Stay. Please. You don't have to go that awful pub. Noisy drunken sods downstairs, all the smells of beer, cider, and fried foods, the walls must be paper thin at least."

Her head spun to face me. "What's that?"

"When you came up here…. to tell me… uhm, about… our baby, there was something else wasn't there?"

She gave out a long sigh. "Not important."

I shook my head. "No. Louisa… talk to me."

She nodded. "Sure. Okay, here goes. You know what I came by to say to you?"

My throat was dry. "No idea."

Her eyes flicked away then back and then stared at the ground. "I was…"

"Yes?"

"Going to tell you…"

"Yes?"

"I…" She sighed. "You see..."

"Yes?"

"You _deserve_ to know and I _have_ to say it." She took a deep breath and then told me, "I love you."

"What?" Joan kept telling me Louisa and I were chalk and cheese and that everyone expected us to fail, but this was remarkable.

She nodded and ducked her head. "I tried to convince myself it _wasn't_ true but it is; always has been Martin. I love you and I just can't help it. And I suppose if you don't love me anymore that's fine, really; I'll have to deal with the consequences. I just had to tell you is all. Get it out of my system. There."

My heart had been banging away in my ears these minutes so I reached out and took her hand firmly. She jumped a little when I touched it. "Louisa… do you have _any_ idea of how much…"

She shook her head slowly. "And if we'd have gotten married it all might have been a horrible mess, but I don't know that and right now I bloody well don't care." She squared her shoulders as she watched me sheepishly. "There I've said it so now I can go."

"Go?" I saw her nervous lip twitch between her teeth.

Her eyes looked scared their gray-green depths piercing my soul. "Ahm, yeah."

I sighed at her and shook my head. "Louisa, I've _missed_ you as well. Every second you've been away and to see you back was… well it is _nice_ actually, no better than nice, and now…

She fairly leaped into my arms, almost knocking me down, as her pregnancy bulge knocked air from me. "Oh God Martin…" she whispered in my ear. "I've… missed you."

Suddenly my eyes felt very wet. "And I _still_ love you as well."

She kissed me full on the mouth and it felt so good as her warm frame nestled into my arms. I wanted time to stop right then – forever – just to be wrapped up in her embrace.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

 **Next**

I wondered what do we do next? She had moved from kissing my mouth over to my cheek and then on to my ear. As enjoyable as this was… "Ahm, Louisa, it's rather, public out here." My arms dropped to my sides but she held tightly to me.

"Right," she said, but she smiled anyway. "I ought to get my things."

"Things?"

"You know, _things_ ; clothes and such."

"Right."

Her eyes suddenly went wary. "You _do_ want me to stay, that it, or perhaps not?"

"No, yes… staying would be good. Ahem, _good_ idea... clothes and such. Shall I help you?"

She slowly loosened her grip on me. "No. I'll… just pop down to the pub and be back."

"Okay."

She gazed up me with adoration, perhaps not quite a look I deserved. "Won't be long." Her cool hand slid down my arm and then released me. "Just a small bag." She turned to go but then her lovely head turned away.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said grinning.

I watched as she carefully picked her way down the steps to the street. She gave a quick little wave.

I could only nod in return as I watched until she went from sight at the turn past the fish house at the Platt. The night we didn't marry was firmly stuck in my head, but this time she wasn't wearing her wedding dress and my heart wasn't aching. Well perhaps it was beating faster for quite the opposite reason. This time there was a future, of some sort, at least.

I checked my watch, and noted that she ought to return in fifteen minutes, perhaps eighteen or twenty if she took her time. Things? I sighed for there were things which women used and held dear. Edith Montgomery cared for ill-decorated footwear, none of which made any sense to me. I owned shoes and they were all black; same size and make, which made dressing stress-free.

I went back inside, straightened the cushions on the sofa, smoothed the apron hanging on the back of the pantry door, and finally sat down to read the Lancet. Several minutes passed as I read the article, "Late Onset Diabetes in Prima-Gravidas and Foetal Outcomes."

The mantel clock ticked as the hands got to the top of the hour, as I moved to page three on "Incidence of Malnutrition and Failure to Thrive in Pre-School Children of North Cornwall Correlated to Disrupted Parental Status."

By the time I got to the end of that one I'd managed to do two things: fill my head with more things to worry about concerning Louisa and the baby as well as wonder where she had got up to.

My watch showed not fifteen minutes had passed so perhaps she was running late. I stood, put the journal back in its place on the coffee table, straightening the pile there, and then looked out the front window. No Louisa. Was something wrong?

I wiped down the kitchen table with a damp cloth then dried it thoroughly. Another two minutes went while I inspected the contents of both fridge and pantry, while making a careful list of food items to buy tomorrow. Fresh bread, more vegetables, couscous, two potatoes, fish and chicken, makings of a salad. My penciled note slowed to a stop. What was I doing? Dithering Martin!

The note went into my pocket then I raced upstairs, stripped the sheets and coverings off my bed and quickly made it back up with fresh linens. Towels in the bath were also replaced with fresh ones, after I emptied the bin of a lone crumpled tissue. A quick glance out the front window didn't show the person I was seeking approaching, so I returned to the bath and relocated my shampoo and bath soap making room for what Louisa was likely to bring.

The toothbrush caught my eye, so I scrubbed my teeth thoroughly. I had observed bad breath so there was no telling what she might say to me if the odor of our dinner lingered on my lips.

Back in the bedroom I smoothed a wrinkle from the duvet then checked my watch. Nearly a half hour gone now. Back downstairs, I set the bundle I was carrying on the coffee table and turned on a lamp. The mantle clock ticked loudly in my ears, so I carefully opened the case and finding it winding down wound the mainspring, brush a bit of fluff out of the pendulum, then turned to face the front door after closing up the clock.

The house was empty but for me, two ticking clocks, and a buzz as the refrigerator cycled on. Overhead I heard slates on the roof groaning as they slowly gave up the day's heat into the cooling evening air.

A bit of lint on my coat attacked my eye so I dispatched it then sat down. Unbidden my hands clasped each other making a slow writhing motion. Why was I so nervous and unsettled? Wasn't this what you wanted? To have Louisa living here? With you? But, what if she viewed this as temporary, until? "No Martin! She said she loved you!" my voice rang out in the still room.

I took a deep breath the sort I took when a patient showed up with blood spurting and I felt panic set in. Calm, be calm. Focus. Focus on the problem at hand. Deal with the issue. Stay in control. But dealing with a blood vessel spurting blood was a different thing from waiting for her to come back. This was a slow drip, more of seepage from an injured vessel, and not one that required immediate action. But a slow leak _can_ just as easily kill.

Yet wasn't this how you slid apart Martin? One slow step at a time. She would go, then come, then you would go, and she would get upset and flee, then on and on and _bloody_ on!

The crises that lead to the marriage proposal had started all this. Then that lead to joining and conception and then a baby would be born in a few months.

The face of the clock gave me no pity for now almost forty minutes had passed. "Blast!" I hissed then went to the door. "Treat it like a vessel that's spurting," I muttered to myself.

In no time I was stepping inside the pub into a cloud of smoke, the fumes of cider, beer, and wine, the noise from the dart club joshing and nudging one another, and a full dozen and a half pairs of eyes swung up, or over, or around fixing me with their stares as I stood in the door.

The barman jerked when he saw me. "Ah, Doc Martin," he mumbled. "Something to do for you?"

I looked around the room and identified any number of my patients who ought not to be drinking given their health issues and medications. My mouth came open to bellow, but I reasoned that dealing a lambasting of the damage they were doing to hearts, livers, kidneys, and brains could keep. If any of them keeled over tonight that was their lookout, but still…

I looked at the barman. "Louisa Glasson?"

He waved a hand towards the stairs. "Up… uhm, room three."

I crossed the room and Chippy Miller called out, "Everything alright Doc?" he nearly sniggered. I turned and went to face him.

I looked at the pint he was holding. "Mr. Miller, considering that I expressly forbade you from drinking with the medicines you are taking _thusly_ setting yourself up for a dangerous reaction. I am certain Mr. Sullivan the _undertaker_ in Truro will be very _happy_ for the _increase_ in his business."

His chubby face fell behind his beard as he glanced at the half full pint beer in his hand. "Sorry, just one, right?"

I scanned the room. "Those of you who I have told to hold off the alcohol should know that it is literally YOUR funeral," I told them then went upstairs with a sound of stunned silence behind me.

Squeaking and tilted stairs led me up to room number three and the door was open a crack. A small push opened it slowly and I saw Louisa sitting on a bed, her face wet with tears with eyes red and streaming.

"Martin?" she said sadly when she saw me. "Oh no…"


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

 **Nerves**

Louisa wiped her eyes then blew her nose on a tissue. "I…" she gulped and looked away. "What are you doing here?"

I saw a half-packed suitcase resting on the bed, with a few pieces of clothing roughly bundled into it. "I came to help you… with… your things." The room was small with faded wallpaper, the ceiling had a water stain, and the window was salt blemished. The furniture was old but not terrible, yet the bed was sway backed which must have played hell with her back.

She closed her eyes. "Sorry Martin, just give me a minute."

I looked at my watch and it was now a full forty-five minutes since she had left my house. "I grew concerned."

"Oh?" she said cautiously.

I pointed to the suitcase. "But I see you've started."

She turned her head. "I wasn't sure…"

"Ah, bout how much to bring?"

She nodded. "Yeah, that's it." Then she rolled her eyes. "Just a bit… well it's been a pretty full day. I had work and then a hospital visit, then the Mr. Strain thing, and then… well, there was you and dinner and now…" she shrugged.

"Louisa you are saying you are tired? Of course you must be."

"Yes," she sighed.

I stood there stupidly, finally reaching behind me and closing the door to keep out nosey-parkers for in the pub below I heard people muttering.

Louisa looked up at me, the closing door seeming to have woken her up from the state she was in. "I'll get a move on."

"Let me help."

She began to fold underthings from the pile on the bed. "I'll hurry."

I saw a carton in the corner. "It might save time if some of your clothing I folded and put in there. Easy to hang it up later. Uhm, after the… uhm, move." I pointed to her case. "Seems like a very small case." I got the carton and set it on the bed.

"A lot of my things are still in London; couple of boxes worth. Audrey has them." She nodded at the open wardrobe where clothing hung askew. "Some of these clothes I bought after I moved. You see I don't fit in some of my old clothes anymore."

"Giving the expected rate of growth…" I stopped. "Yes."

"You mean the rate I'm blowing up like a _balloon_? That it Martin?" she asked bitterly.

"No, Louisa, I _didn't_ mean that. Of course you are, your uhm, yes _larger_ , but that's normal. I wasn't implying anything else. It stands to reason you'd have moved to larger maternity clothing."

"So you think I'm fat? That it?" her eyes glowered at me. "The amazing exploding woman?"

I said softly, "Louisa."

"Answer my question Martin."

"No, Louisa you are not fat. You are expecting a baby. And some things are…"

"Are what?"

"Different. I've no idea why you were crying when I came in here so answer me that."

She rose from the bed, binned the crushed tissue and turned to stare at me. "Oh," she rubbed her arms. "Just… it's all so quick."

I shook my head. "I don't think so. You've been in the village now for half a month, not like this is the first night after you came back."

She sighed back at me. "Alright. Look, I did, I mean when I came to your house two weeks ago I wanted… well I was _going_ to ask if I could _stay_ with you. Not exactly move in only stay for a while until I got my bearings. You know. Get settled. But… Edith was there and things… went… the way they did."

I crossed the room and stopped a foot from her. "What are we doing?"

"Doing?"

"You and me; we don't seem to know… how to get along do we?"

She bit her lip. "No not much."

Here was the divide; the chasm that held us apart. I wanted to be with her, to stay by her side, to see her each and every day, to touch her and kiss her no matter what. I reached out and touched her cheek. "Come what may."

Her lips trembled. "Okay."

"Louisa… I too am feeling…" my other hand waved around in an uncertain way.

"Nervous?" she blurted out.

I nodded, and swallowed thickly. "Yes. That."

She smiled just a little but her eyes looked worried. "Me too."

"Oh."

"I'm fair to shaking in my shoes as well."

That was a fair statement to how I felt. "Well."

"Yeah."

My fingers hadn't strayed from her cheek until then but as I started to lower my hand, she grabbed it with both her hands and kissed my knuckles. "Oh God Martin, why does it have to be so bloody difficult between us?"

My turn to shrug as I shook my head. I knew inside though. I'd been hurt, crushed by my parents and bullies; all the things in life which I didn't understand or fathom from school days and my ill-fashioned parents to the present – losing surgery, composure, status, and at the last Louisa. I had been rejected so many times and each time it was another death.

She ended her two-hand grip on my hand then shifted her hold so she could shake it. "We'll have to start over then; you and me. Draw a line under it and go on. Right." She squared her shoulders and smiled. "I'm Louisa, Louisa Glasson."

I looked deep into her hopeful face. "Oh, yes, I'm Dr. Martin Ellingham. Uhm, I'd like it if you would call me Martin."

Her anxious face broke into a huge smile. "Very nice to meet you Martin."

"And I as well, uhm, to meet you." I looked down at her belly. "I've the feeling we've met before."

That made her laugh. Another kiss and embrace then I released her reluctantly.

I peered around the room. "Let's finish this and go, shall we?"

She nodded. "I'd like to get to know you better."

"Right." I started to fold dresses from the wardrobe. "These your hangers?"

"No."

"Then they stay."

Louisa chuckled. "But we'll leave together?"

"Oh yes," I sighed with yearning for a long future with her. "We shall."


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

 **Road**

At the house I moved Louisa's case and the single carton upstairs and she slowly followed, looking like she'd bolt at any moment. Surely being in my house with me could not have been worse than getting out of the pub. She sighed when she came into the room.

"Problem?" I asked.

"No, just… those people… back in the pub. What must they be thinking?"

"Not much," I muttered.

"Martin!"

I shrugged.

"Oh they're likely thinking…"

"That you are coming to live in my house, Louisa. No need to fret over it."

"But, I do, uhm, fret. At least you didn't bark at them when they all stared."

I resisted telling her that I wanted to shout that they all could go to blazes but I turned and touched her shoulder lightly. "It's fine."

Her pretty head nodded up and down. " _Okay_."

I opened my closet and pushed my clothing together. "I have extra hangers in the box room," I told her which I collected and made ready for her clothing.

Louisa had opened her case and was pulling out the smaller items. "Where shall I? Uhm."

I hadn't considered this. "I'll compact some of my clothing. That work?"

She smiled briefly. "Sure."

I opened my sock drawer where the socks lay in neat and orderly rows of rolled pairs sorted by color. The next drawer over held my boxers. I was considering how to manage as Louisa peered around me. "Martin, don't make a bother; don't let me be a bother."

"No it's fine." Bedsheets lay in a bottom drawer, so I took those out to put in with the rest of the linens down the hall. I scooped up my boxers and put them with my pajamas moving those down to where the sheets had been. The socks moved over a drawer and I put them on top of a horrid Christmas jumper which Aunt Joan had made for as a boy, one I somehow had failed to dispose of over the years. The middle drawer on the other side held two spare stethoscopes, a reflex hammer, and my backup and older otoscope. I picked all those up to put in my surgery. In a flash I had emptied three drawers for her. "There does that do?"

She smiled. "I _am_ putting you out. _Sorry_ Martin."

"No it's fine Louisa. If this isn't adequate I'm sure a spare dresser could be fit in the corner."

She started putting underthings, socks, and scarves into the space I'd vacated, along with a long nightgown and some pajamas.

I tried not to spy on her belongings, but the sight of her brassieres and pants made me feel a bit unsettled. "I'll just go take these down, uhm, stairs."

She grinned and started singing a little tune.

Downstairs I quickly found space for my medical instruments and then took a book off the shelf. The answerphone light was flashing so I reluctantly answered it. It was my aunt.

"Marty? Nothing's wrong here, but I just heard, _well_ you can imagine _what_ I heard! My God Mr. Strain badgering the kids and Louisa! Hospital's more than he deserves, but about the other thing…."

I heard her filthy dog barking on the recording.

" _Quiet_ Buddy! Down boy! Good boy, now stay there. Where was I? Oh yes… I _understand_ that _Louisa_ has moved up to _your_ house? That true? She's moving in?" There was a pause broken by the sound of the dog scratching on something then Joan started gushing and hectoring by halves.

"Well I think it's _marvelous_. Is she staying long? I mean, the pub was awful for her or is there _more_ to it that I have heard? Are you two back together? Or are you _merely_ doing the proper thing? I hope it's not just a mutual housing arrangement. Oh Marty! I so hope that this means."

I pushed the Delete key before I had to listen to anymore drivel. It had not been ten minutes since we left the pub and now everyone knew. Well they can all just bugger off! My fists balled around the book I was holding, one I'd bough in a jumble store in Wadebridge. The cover was a bit tatty but the pages were intact. The cover showed a rather happy looking pregnant woman staring at the camera. 'A Guide To Modern Pregnancy – Things You Need to Know' the title splashed across the cover in 'happy' loopy letters.

I flipped past the lurid cover to chapter eight – 'Month Six.' I had read this part last night focusing on one page in particular and I speculated as I read it, my mouth going dry.

"Martin?" Louisa called from above.

I snapped it closed then tucked it back on the shelf out of sight. "Yes?"

"May I use the bathroom first? Getting late."

I had got to the foot of the steps and stared up at her as she watched me around the corner at the turn. "Yes, I'll be up when you are finished. Everything okay?"

She nodded. "Had just enough hangers."

"Ah."

She smiled. "Thanks."

I ducked my head.

"So," she sighed.

I saw the way her lip was being chewed. "Ah."

She looked at her watch and yawned. "Right. Give me a few minutes."

"Of course."

She yawned and smiled. "Five or six."

I nodded and listened as she bustled about in the bath. Even with the door closed, the sound of water in the sink, tooth brushing, gargling, different water noise, the toilet flushed, the sink ran again, and the drains gurgling all the while broadcast every activity.

She was back and here. In my house; in this cottage where I'd tried to barricade myself away. What did she call it? Something about a tower or a castle? "Whatever," I muttered then checked that the doors were locked.

Finally all the various splashing's and gurgling noises ceased and I could track her movements on creaking floorboards from bath to the hall past the top of the stairs and into the bedroom. The floor creaked as she moved about and I heard a sound I'd been missing greatly; her softly singing voice as she brushed her long hair.

"Martin," I sighed, "it's been a long road."

I stood below waiting and wondering until finally I heard the snap of the overhead light switch, the rustling of bedclothes and a creak as she sat and then lay down on the mattress.

I waited for a moment then went up the steps. Shed turned off the ceiling light but my reading lamp was on.

"Hi," she said softly as I got my pajamas from their new storage place.

"Hello," I told her.

She was half propped up on two pillows in a sleeveless yellow nightdress, her chestnut hair draped across her silky white shoulders and the pure white pillow case. Louisa grinned and nodded. "Don't be long." Her hands fiddled with the sheet which she'd pulled up to her neck but the bulges of her enlarged breasts and belly were displayed in vivid relief.

I ducked my head and left the room. In short order I was brushed and washed but my eyes' reflection in the mirror over the sink looked spooked. I pulled the vest over my head and brushed my hair. "Right."

As I made my way down the hall and looked inside the bedroom I heard a soft noise. Louisa lay as she had been, but her head had sagged to one side, eyes, closed, and mouth open and she was clearly asleep. The sibilant sound was her snoring softly.

I stood over the bed looking at her, then feeling a chill in the night air, pulled the duvet up to her chin. She mumbled and rocked her head but did not wake. Bending over her I planted a soft kiss on her forehead. She smelled of Kenzo Flower and warm woman. Then putting on my slippers and dressing gown I made my way downstairs.

Sometime later after I exhausted my newest _BMJ_ and _Lancet_ so I made up the sofa with the sheet and blanket I had staged down here before she returned from the pub. "She needs rest Martin, you know that," I told myself. "And so do you."

I switched off the light and lay down in the darkness. Peering at the ceiling I found relief that she and the baby were here; in my home, where I could care for them. Give them the help they needed. "Right, Auntie Joan. Best I can do at the moment. As for the rest?" I paused. "Mm. Have to see how things go. Other problems to be solved."

Someone was calling my name. "Martin?" And then I felt a hand on my arm.

"Wha?" I rose from a deep slumber. "Who?"

"It's _me_ Martin. What are doing down here?" Louisa said and turned on the light.

"Uhm," I rubbed an eye. "Sleeping obviously. Or I _was_."

"Gosh, I thought…" she turned away. "I woke up and the bed was empty and I didn't know where you were. I thought we… you know."

"What?" I sat up. In the shaded lamplight she was so beautiful as she stood over me, like a Venus, but I don't know that any sculptor ever carved a Venus that was so obviously pregnant or quite so breathtakingly gorgeous. Well there were some fertility votive statues… I drew my mind away from remembered archeology lessons but the nightgown draped her body so lovingly.

She stood up straight and crossed her arms. "I thought… at least we might…" she fidgeted. "Same bed at least."

"Louisa, you were tired and asleep and I didn't want to disturb you."

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

I nodded at her. "You said yourself it has been a very long day, so I thought I would sleep down here."

She rolled her eyes and turned to go, but she stopped, came back and getting down awkwardly to her knees she knelt by me. "Martin. Very gallant of you."

"Thank you. Didn't want to impose." I started to lie back down. "Now good night."

Her head drooped. "But don't you? I mean what you said… when I told you that I, uhm." She shrugged.

I sighed. "Louisa, _perhaps_ we ought to take things… _slow_."

"Surely you… I mean, it's been a _very_ long and rocky road. Surely we can go the final stretch together?" she whispered.

I had no answer for fear held me. What ought we to do? She was here and I was here but for our sweet words this evening I was uncertain. We'd failed before. Did we have a right to try again? "I… don't… know."

Suddenly she lurched and grabbing my hand pulled it to her belly, much as she had before. "Martin, you sweet _fool_ , feel it. That's _our_ _baby_ in there. Kicking me and you can feel it. And I'm here; I'm back and… _I_ want _you_ and I love you."

I stared at her in some shock. I had read in the pregnancy guide that some women in late second and early third trimester of pregnancy regained a sense of vigor about, ahem, certain things; affairs of the bedroom in other words. "Louisa, surely you're _not_ saying what I think you're saying? It might not be safe! For you or the baby! It's not necessary."

She laughed a little and pressed herself closer, kissing me softly on the lips. "I'm _not_ sick or made of spun glass Martin," she whispered. "It's your bed Martin and you're not imposing. I _want_ to sleep with you Martin Ellingham." Her eyes twinkled in the light. "Now come sleep with me."

I did love her. "Ah, I see. Right."


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

 **Feelings**

"You okay?" Her quiet words warmed the side of my face.

"I'm fine. How are, ahem, you?" I turned my head to face where she was resting in the dark. "Are you feeling… uhm, any odd… twinges?"

I heard her sigh as she brushed her lips against my cheek. "Martin, you are… so… one-minded. Really."

I ought to be asking her. "Louisa, but you're alright? You're sure?"

She hugged me more tightly. "Yep."

"We, uhm, well when we… were uhm?"

" _Yes_ Martin," she kissed me again.

"We were engaged in… love making, you were making…. _noises_. Did I hurt you? In any way?"

" _No_ , Martin," she said then started to nibble on my bare shoulder but she stopped as I yawned. "Sorry. You must be tired."

Tired wasn't quite what I felt. "No, I'm fine."

She chortled in my ear. "That's where this conversation started Martin."

"Yes, but."

"But what?"

I cleared my throat as she slid a hand down my side for it tickled and my arm jerked.

"Sorry, did that tickle?"

"Yes." I tried to scoot over and put a little distance between us, but she pulled me back towards her.

"So sorry Martin. It's just that…"

"Just what?" In the light from the moon filtering through the blind I could just see her wide-open eyes.

"I've been missing you. Now here we are." She hugged me tightly once more and the touch of her warm body, all of it, gave me a sense I had not felt very often. "I'm sorry if I startled you."

We were a bit energetic a few minutes ago. "No, no! Just that I've never made love to a pregnant woman before. That is I suppose I did, before, in the autumn."

"But you didn't know it. Well I am." Her hand slid down to touch her belly which was pressed against me, the warm bulge an awesome presence.

"Having a baby," she went on. "And you know what? I can't _get_ pregnant _being_ pregnant, so no worries there. So…" Her fingers trailed down my hip and explored.

Good lord the woman was insatiable! I reached down and grabbed her hand before she went further. "Louisa there's no need to tire yourself out. And you _need_ rest."

She chuckled at me. "I'm not that tired."

"Yes… but before… I didn't hurt you? In any way? You're sure?"

"No, no, and yes, Martin."

"Because if we… that is if I hurt you I'd never forgive myself."

"Martin, it's fine. I'm fine. My baby is, I mean, _our_ baby is fine." Her eyes looked very liquid and larger in the moonlight.

I swallowed hard. " _Our_ baby."

"You okay with that?"

"Louisa, of _course_ I'm okay with it. If I wasn't would I have _badgered_ you to come to dinner, to move in, to…"

Her fingers stopped my lips. "No Martin. I wanted to stay. Sorta been hoping that there was a way to get back together."

"Ah. Good."

"Well at least I've moved up from fine."

I stared at her. "No I mean it; I do."

We lay entwined for a few minutes; not speaking, just holding.

She rolled away and onto her back taking my hand with her and holding it to her sternum, fingers laced with mine. "Any regrets?"

Regrets? Yes a lorry full. Why had I waited so long to tell her what I felt? Why had we been so pig-headed? Why…. I stopped my ruminations in shock. Why did I tell Parsons I wanted to leave Portwenn? I'd have to do something about that for I doubted Louisa would care to move to London as much as I might like to. There was still my blood phobia to deal with anyway.

"But you're here now," I told her. "You're here; I'm here."

I caught the gleam of her teeth as she smiled. "And I was never so glad to see you as when I saw you show up on the beach."

"Strain was menacing to both you and your class. Fortunate I came when I did, Louisa."

"No harm done, but for your suit, shoes and a ruined mobile. And he didn't mean it."

In Strain's off kilter state anything might have happened. Suddenly I felt fear. "Oh Louisa, what if I didn't come?"

"But Martin you did; on the jiffy too. You defused the situation."

"At least the man didn't drown himself."

She scooted over and rested her head against my cheek. "My hero."

I blew air out of my nose.

"No I mean it, Martin."

" _Hero_ is a very strong word Louisa and I'm just the village GP."

She slowly rolled onto her side facing me. Then she kissed me softly and tenderly. "Martin Ellingham, you're not _just_ anything. Be fair to yourself for you ARE something very special."

I sighed for too many times I felt small and inadequate; awkward and out of control.

Louisa curled up against me as she said to me, "Good night, love."

I brushed the bangs off her forehead and kissed her there. "Goodnight Louisa."

I took note as her breathing got slower and slower, finally falling into a steady rhythm of deep sleep. Holding this beautiful woman I felt complete, although I had the feeling that there were things that I needed to attend to – and soon; quite soon.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

 **Decisions**

The scrambled eggs had been cooking for two minutes so I swiftly stirred them with the side of the spatula. They were firm, but neither hard nor runny. I lifted them onto two plates, added toast and the bacon I had fried in the other pan. I was completing setting the table just as Louisa came downstairs.

She beamed at me as she surveyed the table laid with eggs, bacon, toast and marmalade. I hadn't the time to grill a tomato though. "Gosh. Quite a spread."

I pulled out her chair and helped her get up to the table. "You need proper nutrition."

She asked, "Is there juice?"

"Orange." I poured her a tumbler full.

Louisa nodded while smiling at me. "All in good order, just as I expected. You're taking good care of me."

From her expression I wasn't sure what she meant. "Oh?"

"Everything is fine." She yawned. "Sorry about last night."

"Whatever for?" I asked but there certainly were moments last night when I sensed a certain amount of, dare I say, desperation? Her kisses were eager and the rest was even more ardent.

"Ahm, you know."

As I poured my espresso she leaned over to inhale it. "Ah. Coffee. Smells good."

"Louisa, caffeine is contraindicated when a woman is…"

"Yes?" She arched an eyebrow at me.

"Expecting."

"I know. I do miss a good cuppa. And listen Martin I don't expect you to manage everything I eat and drink. Got it?"

"Right. There is decaffeinated tea, if you'd care for that."

Louisa started to eat her breakfast. "What's the point?"

I sat down across from her still slightly in shock from the night. "You're here."

"What?"

"Ahm. Just making an observation."

She extended her left hand and touched the back of my fingers. "Glad I am Martin."

We ate.

She looked at her watch when she finished eating. "Better be going."

"Early?"

She nodded. "Yep. I didn't get to look over those files at the school." Her face found mine and she grinned. "But I can do that this morning."

"I expect there may be parents lurking about the schoolyard wanting news of your predecessor."

"There is that as well."

She moved her empty plate and used utensils over to the counter. "Better get rolling." Standing behind me Louisa suddenly threw her arms around my neck and kissed my ear. "Thank you Martin."

"You're welcome," I muttered. She smelled nice. "Louisa?"

"Yes?" Her nibbling lips worked their way to my neck above my collar as I squirmed.

"We need to talk."

"Oh? What about?" Now she was kissing the top of my head.

I turned my head to look up so I was almost eye-to-eye with her; and a very pretty eye it was. My glance moved down to her bulging belly under the green dress she wore the night she came back to Portwenn. "About… this."

She let me go and sat down next to me. " _Serious_. My, my."

I sighed. "Things went… uhm, _quickly_ yesterday. Quicker than I imagined and last night was…" Last night was amazing but my need for her was also slightly scary.

She raised an eyebrow at me. "So you didn't think that I'd actually stay? That it?"

"No. I had _hoped_ … that you might. I had no assurances that you would."

She drummed on the table. " _No_ assurances. Humph." She grinned. "But I did. And?"

I'd been awake since 5 AM mulling over how to broach the subject. "What do you want to do?"

"Do?"

"You and me. Do you want to get married?"

She sat back in her chair. "You asked me that already and I gave you an answer, sort of."

"Louisa, I'm asking you again."

Suddenly her face went white. "Martin, I'm not sure – it's all gone so _fast_."

A weighty silence sat on us for a half minute or so.

Finally she spoke. "But you want to give it as go."

I shrugged. "I'll do what you wish. Marry or not – up to you."

"But _you_ want to."

"Louisa, I'm just repeating the offer."

"Martin we don't _need_ to get married."

"Yes, I know." Need? Would being married keep us closer so our back and forth struggling might end or at least our combat be waged at close quarters?

"No matter what," she glanced down where her lap used to be, "our baby's gonna tie us together. So maybe marriage would be just a formality."

Formality? I ducked my head. I viewed marriage as the way of things; more of a requirement for committed couples than an option. But were we committed? Just because we made a baby didn't mean that we were.

"But if it makes you feel better I'll think about it." She hugged me briefly then stood to leave. "Better get my things."

"Will you lunch at school?"

"I think so, first day back as Head, right? Acting Head, actually. But thank you for asking." She pecked me on the cheek and went upstairs.

I cleared my dishes and washed up the plates, glasses, and utensils, then last washed the frying pans. In a clatter of shoes Louisa came back down. As I dried my hands I decided to say one more thing though my mouth went dry. "Louisa, you ought to know. I spoke to Chris Parsons." Dear old tiny, cramped, misbegotten, backward, and unsophisticated Portwenn how I wanted to be gone, until Louisa came back.

"O… kay. What brought this up?"

"Well, you see I spoke to Chris Parsons some time ago."

She was filling a water bottle at the tap as I spoke, but I could tell she was half listening. "Right. Go on."

I'd heard her get up three times in the night to the toilet; part of being pregnant I had learned and I knew that drinking extra water helped to maintain water balance in the pregnant female. Here it was; the moment. What I wished for was two-fold. I wished to be a surgeon once more but I also wished to be with Louisa. I could have one and perhaps not the other or even both.

"Louisa, about London," I gulped.

"Noisy and crowded. Expensive as all get out. Go on."

"So you'd not want to go back there."

She turned and her face held shock. "I just got back to the village so no Martin. Why are you asking this now?"

"I…"

The front door flew open and Pauline Lamb barged in shouting. "Oh my God Louisa you DID stay the night! I won a tenner!"

"Oh God," I muttered in disgust as a laughing Pauline came into the kitchen and threw her arms around Louisa.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

 **Making a mess**

"So I think it's good that you finally decided to do right by her!" Mrs. Devlin screeched in my face as I examined her half-blind eyes. "Poor girl a stickin' out to here! And I seen her lumbering past my door from her school to the pub at night and back up hill each mornin'. Taint right." She sighed. "But now you've got it sorted. That's good! A pub's no place for her! Why in my day…'

My whole day had been like this. Every patient had an opinion and each one was all too willing to tell me. Their thoughts ran the gamut from 'Doc you're still a tosser and you will still fail her in the end' to 'isn't it nice and now it'll be all hearts and flowers for you two.' Some hugged me, or tried to, while others yelled at me.

I'd started off that morning by bluffing my way through their words - actually telling them to shut it - but by 5 PM I was totally exhausted by the verbal barrage.

In many ways what I'd been told today paralleled the reaction when we did not get married months ago. I was a tosser, I'd hurt Louisa, disappointed the whole village, and so forth. There were those few who told me point blank that Louisa ad I would never make it work; we'd just make a mess of things, so better to nip it in the bud and go our own ways.

I was trying get a good look at her milky-white cataracts which were ripening rapidly. "Shush," I hissed at her. "Hold still." But her head rocked under my hands. "Stop it!" I finally bellowed at her.

"Well the way you been lookin' at 'em I thought you was fallin' in love with me Doc!"

"Oh… for God's sake…"

"Ha," she laughed. "Gotcha. Don't suppose Louiser would like that," she grinned. "Me being seventy-five years next birthday and all."

I wheeled myself away from her. "Your eyes are due to be fixed."

"Sounds like they're broken."

I sighed. "As I have explained Mrs. Devlin the lens of each eye turns cloudy with age, due to sunlight and genetics. The procedure is relatively straight forward to replace it. They do one at a time. I expect the surgeon will elect to repair the left first. A few months later they'll repair the other eye."

She started. "Replace? Gonna put sumthin' in my eyes? Ain't there a pill or somethin'? And it's _Allwin_. Don't know any Devlin's."

I glanced at her notes and read the proper name. "Right. Mrs. _Allwin_. I'll have my girl contact hospital and see when they can schedule you."

"Girl? Who? Oh, Pauline? Yes, Doc she _is_ a girl, but she's a woman as well. She's nearly twenty five or more; don't think she'd appreciate bein' called a girl, though she is one. Speaking of which, is Louiser havin' a boy or a girl? Them fancy scans and things ought to be able to tell you. You oughta know that."

"MRS. ALLWIN! We are discussing YOUR medical condition! Leave Louisa Glasson and our baby out of it!"

" _Our_ baby. I like to hear you say that Doc."

I washed my hands before I took my pen to write her notes. God knew what sorts of diseases I got exposed to everyday and that made me think quite hard about Louisa and her health. Her school was filled with sniffling and coughing students, all of which she'd get exposed to. Perhaps she'd consider quitting her job.

The old woman went on, "And so wonderful that she's got her old job back. Fancy that!"

I grunted. "None of your business." I scribbled a note. "I'll have _Pauline_ contact you as to scheduling, unless you prefer to do that yourself.

She nodded. "No, Pauline can do it. She's got my home line. Am I done?"

I waved a hand at her. "Go."

"So boy or girl?" she asked at the door but when I glared at the old woman she swiftly fled.

I sagged back in my chair. Nosy parker!

I heard a tap at the door and it opened. Pauline looked hard at me. "Your _girl_ is done for the day. She was your last patient."

"Pauline, I meant… uhm…"

"Look I _am_ a girl doc, but I'm also a woman so don't think I'm anybody's girl!" she bristled.

"Fine."

Her demeanor changed as she approached my desk. "So I'll be going unless you need anything."

I shook my head then handed her the patient note packet.

She nodded. "Right. Miss Glasson's not home?"

"Meetings I expect. Her new job."

"Yeah," she sighed. "So…"

"Yes?"

She reached over and touched my shoulder. "Glad things are gonna work out with you two. Took you long enough."

I shrugged her off still unhappy with having our business known.

"Don't be so touchy. Sheesh. Goodnight Doc," she replied.

"Night."

I listened while she gathered her things and went out the door locking up behind her.

I rested my arms on the desk wanting to have a lie-down but the note I'd scribbled to myself was still protruding from under the desk blotter. Bracing myself I picked up the phone and dialed the number I'd scrawled.

"Truro Hospital!" A bright voice said, "Dr. Parsons office!"

"This is Dr. Ellingham in Portwenn. Is he available?"

"Let me check. Hold on."

I heard a click and was treated to less than soothing elevator-type music. Three minutes passed and I was ready to ring off when I heard Parson's voice.

"Mart! Good of you to call. I was about to call you!"

"Hello Chris. What about?"

"Well _you_ called, but okay. I've made a few phone calls about what we discussed."

"Yes?" My heart began to beat faster.

"Imperial is very interested. The Head of Vascular Surgery is moving into full admin mode and they had not quite started to seek a replacement but when I mentioned you they were over the moon."

"Head of Vascular at Imperial Hospital?"

"Yes, Robert Dashwood is the surgeon who's moving on. The job being replaced is his."

"I know him."

"Know him? Mart, Dashwood practically shouted when I told him you might be available. He'll likely keep his hand in surgery though, but he'd be extremely glad to have you on board."

London, the capital of the UK, largest city in Europe and the bright and shining light of my former world. "Ah."

"Ah? Good Lord Mart! This would be a fantastic opportunity!"

I thought rapidly in silence. Dashwood, a hard master, but a good one, for he taught me to be steady under fire; to fear nothing. "Agreed." Of course my haemophobia had taken no prisoners.

"So then you're interested?"

"Ahm…"

I heard the back door open and Louisa's voice happily calling, "Martin I'm home!"

I began to say to the phone, "Chris…"

Louisa waltzed into the room. "Hello!" she said cheerily. "I heard… oh you're on the phone."

I held up a finger to indicate she should wait.

"Ah, _medical_ stuff," she muttered, but as she swung her arms back and forth she gave me a huge smile.

"You still there Mart?" Chris said into my ear.

Caught in the mess I said to him, "Let me get back to you." I put down the handset and Louisa crossed the room and hugged me tightly. "Hi," she said softly as she kissed my mouth.

"Uhm, hello." She was warm and smelled nice and from the way her abdomen pressed against my hip I could tell she was bigger than yesterday. Expected at seven months gestation.

"Doesn't sound like you're that glad to see me," she grumbled.

"No. Yes, I am, that is, I am glad to see you." I waved a hand over my desk. "Busy."

She looked around the empty room. "Sorry I'm late. Lots of things going on at school."

I nodded. "Here as well."

She smiled. "Dinner?"

"I haven't had a chance to think about it."

"Cook or eat out?"

"Louisa a home-cooked meal _would_ be more healthful for you."

"Yes," she said. "But if you're too tired to cook, we should go out. Celebrate."

I stared at her. "Celebrate?" Celebrate our getting back together? That she was no longer living in the pub? That she got her old job back at least temporarily? That we made love three times last night? Or that Imperial College Hospital wanted me to be a surgeon there?

"You were on the phone with Chris Parsons? How is he?" she asked.

"Uhm, medical things. Nothing personal."

She nodded. "Right." She dropped her arms after pecking me on the cheek. "So about tonight?"

Distracted by by the thoughts rushing in my hand I dumbly nodded.

"Fine," Louisa responded. "Let me freshen up a bit and we can go." She looked down at her shoes. "And change my shoes 'cause my feet are killing me."

She was wearing low-heeled boots. I only shook my head.

"I know," she said, "But I like how they look with this dress."

"Bad for your posture," I told her. "Especially when carrying a baby."

Her eyes flashed. "Don't tell me how to dress Martin. I'll figure it out. Natural outcomes, right? If it's a mess it'll be my mess, got it?" she snapped.

"Fine." As Louisa turned to leave the room I swept up the folder holding Edith Montgomery's presentation and tucked it out of sight on my bookshelf.

Louisa looked back at me from the doorway. "Coming?"

"Uhm, yes."


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33 – At Dinner**

I suggested that we go to a place that my secretary told me about. It was in New Polzeath so it was some little ways out of the village, but not that far.

Martin sniffed unhappily.

"Problem?"

"Uhm, no." He leaned forward, his hand poised over the touchscreen on the dash. "Address?"

"It's overlooking the beach. Atlantic Terrace" I told him. "Don't need satnav do we?"

His hand fell then rested on the wheel. "Fine." He sat there for a few moments bit then started the car, backed out of the spot and we traveled through the village. Martin stayed quiet, but he was _always_ quiet. I tried to talk to him anyway. "How was your day?"

"Busy," he grunted. "Uhm, how did your day go as Acting Head?"

"Oh, had to talk with a few concerned parents. Had to explain about yesterday." Then I yawned. "Sorry, guess I need a nap."

"We could have stayed at the house."

"No, no, it's fine." I snuggled back into the leather seat and reached across to take his elbow. That made his head whip around and he stared. My arm shook then dropped away moving back to my lap, or where my lap used to be.

Martin looked back to the front. "Louisa, narrow road here. Best I keep my attention on driving."

My hand smoothed a wrinkled spot on my dress. "Sure. Best be safe." The few miles passed quickly, with glimpse of the sea on our right and the edge of the moor to our left.

Finally Martin asked, "Would you like some music?"

"Not unless you do."

"No, I'm… happy… to enjoy the silence."

Just what I expected. "Right."

He glanced at me. "All day, nattering patients, screeching Pauline…" he shrugged. "I sometimes need to…" he waved a hand vaguely.

"Decompress?"

He ducked his head at me. "Yes. "

"Me too." I touched his shoulder and patted it. "After work I often have a lie-down. A little nap sometimes."

"You need rest, especially now, with the uhm, baby."

That made me smile. "Maybe I'll just close my eyes for a little minute then." Serenaded by the swish of tires on the macadam and air moving around the car I felt myself drifting off. The car was warm too, so in a slight while I fell asleep.

"Louisa?" His voice seemed far away.

I stirred and stretched. "Uhm, yeah?" I said followed by a yawn.

"We're here." He threw open his door to climb out.

I opened my bag and checked my face in my makeup mirror. My nap hadn't done my makeup much harm. I was reaching for the door handle when Martin opened it.

"Steady there," he said. "Pavement's a bit uneven."

He actually took my hand then an elbow and I was shocked but I gave him a heartfelt smile. The baby must have liked it as well for she rolled about for a few seconds, and then stopped as if she was waiting for further developments.

The restaurant was called 'Seaview' and the name was correct for every table overlooked the road between the beach and the building, plus the beach and sea beyond. The hostess seated us at a table for two next to the front window. She smiled sweetly at me, but I saw her glance at my ring-less fourth finger on my left hand. Oh well, that's gonna happen a lot Louiser so get used to it. Out the window the sand was golden and few bathers were still out, waves were gently rolling in and the air was turning golden from the setting sun. The sun was still above the sea but as it went there would be a glorious sunset. I turned my head from the window and found Martin gazing at me. "Martin?"

He cleared his throat followed by, "Louisa I only want to say…"

A floppy-haired ginger waiter's assistant interrupted as he filled our water goblets.

Martin shot him an irritated look.

The kid, a boy about fourteen, ducked his head. "Didna' mean to barge in," he mumbled and went away, pulling up his droopy trousers with one hand while carrying the water pitcher with the other.

"Poor boy," I said.

"What?"

I nodded. "He looks a bit out of place." I looked around the room. "Rather posh. All the other waiters are adults. He's just a kid."

Martin wrinkled his nose. "Right," he muttered as he picked up the menu and began to examine it.

I reached over and pulled it away from his face. "You were saying? Before the water came."

From his eyes he looked ready to bolt.

I smiled encouragingly. "Go on."

A few seconds went by. "I was going to say that…"

Someone walked over right then and butted in. "Dr. Ellingham! Louisa Glasson!"

Martin groaned, for it was the Vicar. "You."

He smiled at me. "And Miss Glasson, I have heard that you have your _old_ job back." The Vicar stood straighter. "Miss Glasson, if you…" he pointedly tried not to look at my pregnant belly but it was far too obvious to be ignored. "And I see," he shot a know-it-all look at Martin then at me.

I cut him off. "Yes, temporary. _Acting_ Head Teacher you see."

"Ah yes and I heard," The Vicar lowered his voice, "your predecessor was taken to _hospital_."

Martin grunted. "He took ill."

"Oh?" the Vicar said. "Hm. Well let us hope that he regains his health." He winked at me. "I'm not saying that I wish him any bad luck you understand, eh? Just that… well I'm certain the school will do better under your fine hand at the helm."

Martin glared at him. "I see that you are beyond using a cane."

The Vicar smiled. "You know rehab went far faster than I hoped." He slapped his thigh. "And the docs say I can't break this one anymore. Titanite."

"The implant which repaired your fractured leg is made of an alloy of titanium," Martin corrected him. "Any stiffness of the joint? Has the scar healed well? If you have any… issues… make an appointment, now if you don't mind?" He huffily finished and snapped his napkin for emphasis before precisely placing it on his lap.

The Vicar waved a palsied hand. "The leg is fine." He bent his head towards Martin's. "I am also maintaining a regime of abstinence."

Martin frowned. "Right."

The Vicar bent his aged neck towards Martin again. "Dr. Ellingham I know that our meetings have been _less_ than cordial."

Martin opened his mouth then closed it.

"But…" the Vicar went on, "if I may be of any service? Anything at all? Ahem, to both of you?" he smiled. "Please call the church." He smiled broadly then turned and waked away with a small limp.

I had felt the man's eyes on me from belly to baps and of course that ring-less finger so I sighed.

Martin went back to his menu. "Ass."

"Mar – tin!"

"I can tell he's been shirking his exercise or he would not be limping! Plus he ought to be using a cane when he's out, until he's cleared by his physio-rehab team."

"Well how do you know that?"

Martin wrinkled his nose. "Because I would be informed, and have been, that he has missed several appointments, he has not been to see me for two months and…"

"Martin! _You_ made _him_ fall and break his hip."

Martin shook his menu at me. "The man was drunk," he protested. "On our wedding day."

"A wedding I recall that _neither_ you _nor_ I attended," I bristled. "So give the Vicar some… well a chance. Right?"

Martin ducked his head sideways the way he did at times.

"You were saying? Or were about to before we got interrupted?" I prodded.

Martin looked up from the table where he had seemed to be studying the silverware. He squared his shoulders. "I was going to…"

"Yes?"

He pursed his lips. "You're… so very beautiful."

"Oh?" I reached across the table. "Thank you saying that but I don't feel quite so glamorous." My other hand pulled at the napkin perched on my balloon belly. "Seven months."

Martin shook his head. "No Louisa, you _are_ beautiful. Pregnant or not."

I smiled. "Thank you Martin," I told him, our near argument forgotten.

A waiter walked over and began to explain the menu items and the day's specials. Whatever he said was nearly inaudible for my ears were still ringing from what Martin had just said.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34 – Where there's smoke**

We ordered our dinners (me the chicken him the fish) and I found Martin once again staring at me. He raised an eyebrow as I looked straight at him.

"Well, this is nice," I said to fill the silence. "I like your tie."

He looked down to adjust his tie, rearranged his silverware and then touched his full water glass. "It's silk."

This is the way that Martin communicated. If I managed to get anything out of him it was a sniff, a nod, or an extremely short answer. Or it came from the other end of the spectrum as a full-blown lecture, _usually_ criticizing something. Sometimes the something was _me_ ; drove me bonkers. But he had other ways of speaking, from his hang-dog expression to eyes wide with a faint near-smile on his lips. I much preferred the latter to one of his angry, scowling and shouting tirades.

"Still like it." I leaned forward. "You _can_ talk to me, you know."

"About?"

"Oh," I fidgeted. "Father of my child might have something to say once in a while. But what you said before was…" I stopped for suddenly I felt very warm so I shrugged off my light wrap. "Well, I thought it was…" The baby squirmed and I felt a strange jolt of pleasure as it rolled, twisted and turned. Men would never get this feeling of a new life growing. In spite of the pain and discomfort of backaches, swollen fingers and ankles, puffy face and eyelids, bloated body, and constant having to wee. For all the inconveniences of being pregnant it was nice actually. I looked at Martin and gave him a big smile.

"Yes?" He looked at me with those green eyes of his. "Everything alright?"

There was no way I could tell him what I was thinking. I had an urge to reach across the table to kiss him, but he'd hate it. "Yes. Quite nice actually," I said with frustration. "Martin?"

He'd gone back to studying his water glass. For some reason I'd lost him as I was in mother-hen-mode. Martin, Martin. "You in there?" I asked.

He looked out the window, ignoring me.

I crossed my arms. "You know, this is just one of the reasons…"

"What reasons?" he responded as he turned to me.

"I didn't marry you," I hissed.

He took on an alarmed look. " _Louisa_."

"For if you won't talk to me?" Now I felt hot nearly all over; both in temperature and temperament. I crossed my arms across my swollen baps and glared at him.

He hissed air from his nose and said, "We'll need to get a cot, for baby, and a pram."

His practical response stopped me cold. "Right." How could he change gears so quickly like that? Maybe his brain worked on many channels.

"I expect you'll want the child to sleep in our room? When it's older we can fix the small room across the hall."

Glad of any conversation I answered, "That room," I wrinkled my nose. "Not wild about the wallpaper."

"I understand that was Dr. Sim's daughter's room. I haven't touched it since I moved in."

"Maybe Al could paint it for us," I replied.

Martin nodded. "But we ought to wait until after the baby is born. You and it should not be exposed to any noxious paint fumes."

" _It_ Martin? It's a boy or a girl!" I huffed. "Our child is NOT an it!"

He sat up straighter. "Yes, the uhm, baby."

"It _does_ have a gender."

"Yes." He leaned forward and whispered. "Have you had a scan to determine sex?"

"Having a scan next week. Tuesday 2 PM."

"Ah. I'll drive you."

"Joan could take me, or I can take the bus."

"God no!"

My turn to lift an eyebrow at him. "Don't get upset. Of course you can take me. Didn't know you were so excited to spend three hours with me next Tuesday."

He looked at me oddly, but I was smiling so he relaxed and actually reached across the table for my hand.

The room felt very warm and I flashed back to our love making last night. "You know, Martin I was thinking…" Now my neck and chest felt flushed and I started to perspire. "Is it hot in here?"

Martin's head shot up. He turned his neck and waved to the host who bustled over.

"Yes sir?" the man asked.

Martin said to him, "It is hot in here. Can you get some cross ventilation?"

The host smiled blankly. "It's just the sun setting. All this glass, it gets right hot this time of day."

Martin pointed to me. "She is too warm."

The host, who was a man of about fifty nodded sagely. "She's having a baby."

"I can see _that_. She's still too hot." Martin tugged at his perfectly tied tie. "And so am I."

The man smiled his empty smile. "I'll have Douglas bring some ice for your water. Shall I?"

I saw Martin scowl and the host stiffened so I butted in. "Mar-tin," I whispered. "It is okay."

Martin snapped his fingers at the man all the same. "Be quick about it."

As the host walked away his posture spoke volumes.

Martin bristled. " _Useless_ dolt," he muttered.

"Oh don't say that." Another of the many reasons being with Martin was challenging.

He wrinkled his nose. "Likely he forgot _just_ soon as he walked off."

"Relax," I told him. It was growing still hotter in the restaurant and I had to fan myself with my table napkin. "Wouldn't mind an ice lolly about now."

Martin reached over and touched my cheek with the back of his fingers. "It's not you. That is you are perspiring, uhm… slightly."

I was fanning my face like mad. "I know that." I picked up my glass and took a long drink. I'd not had any water from before I left school so it felt good going down.

Despite Martin's expectations the waiter's assistant came scurrying over with a metal pitcher beaded with water droplets and a metal bowl with tongs sticking from it. He stopped at our table. "Host says he may have to charge for iced drinks," the boy muttered.

"Just do it," Martin barked.

The boy smiled at me. "Miss."

I held out my glass and he filled it to the brim with ice and then water. "Thank you."

He watched as I drank it down so held it out to him for more. He refilled my glass with cold water and I held the cool glass up to my forehead. "Thanks awfully."

The boy stopped moving for a second, then straightened up his nose twitching. "Is that…?" he muttered.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, what?"

The boy turned his head away from us. "Is that smoke?"

Martin turned his head from side-to-side as he sniffed at the air. "No I…."

The kid turned and sprinted away towards the kitchen slopping water from the pitcher and dropping the bowl, which hit the polished wooden floor with a loud clang, ice flying in all directions.

" _He's_ in a hurry," I chuckled to Martin.

Martin pushed his chair back, threw his napkin down and reached out a hand. "Louisa I'm not certain…"

"What?"

He opened his mouth just as the waiter's assistant pushed open both swing-doors in the kitchen doorway.

"FIRE!" the boy screamed.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35 – There's fire**

Suddenly half the diners jumped up and made for the door. I managed to snag my handbag off the floor before Martin dragged me forward.

"Louisa!" he hissed at me. "Don't breathe!"

As he tugged on my arm, I looked back and smoke pouring from the kitchen doorway and slithering across the white ceiling like snakes at the Newquay Zoo. "Martin?" I put the brakes on for I saw the Vicar behind us sitting in his chair, looking dumbfounded. "Look! It's the Vicar!"

Martin looked down at me. "Why are you stopping?! We must GO! And NOW!" He pulled a handkerchief free of his pocket and gave it to me. "Here. Over your mouth and nose!"

Looking past Martin the doorway was nearly jammed by panicky people.

Our school fire drills were always practiced in an orderly manner. 'Keep calm, now, take, hands, single file, don't run, but don't stop,' we told our students.

Here the main door jam-up looked like a mob at the stadium when someone might call out 'free beer.' "We can't get though that!" I yelled to Martin.

"The secondary exit!" he shouted. "Behind you!" He towed me along behind him towards the side of the room. Under a faded FIRE sign, another door was tucked into the corner, but it was blocked by folded tables and a wheeled cart.

"Bugger," I heard his growl. He turned to look past me. "BACK! The other way!"

We retraced our steps. The crush at the main door hadn't stopped and now people were actively fighting – pushing and shoving – while smoke filled the air. I could feel heat coming from the kitchen in waves, plus an incandescent light show with associated roar. We were good and truly trapped!

The Vicar stared at me from ten feet away. I saw him try to speak but only a croak came out. My hand went down to my belly as I looked at Martin, who chose just then to stare back at me. We _had_ to get out. "The baby!" I screamed at him as the will to live kicked in. " _Mar-tin_!"

"Louisa…" He pushed the handkerchief back to my face. "Stay."

What that he scooped up a chair and swung it in an overhead swing against the nearest floor-to-ceiling window. The glass resisted until he gave it another two blows until it shattered. He wielded the chair legs to clear any shards from the window frame, threw the chair aside, and then practically tossed me through the opening.

When I got outside, I dropped the handkerchief and pulled on his arm. "Come ON! Mar-tin!"

He stopped just then and looked back over his shoulder. I saw the Vicar slowly slide out of his chair and fall forward onto his face.

I dragged at Martin with my hand, the other holding my belly, only wanting to get both of us away from the horror behind. "Come _on_!" I yelled at him. "COME ON! Follow ME!"

Martin was in the window frame, squeezing his body through when he stopped suddenly. "Louisa call 9-9-9!"

I had a horrible feeling that he was going to do what I feared he would. Just as I grabbed his hand his fingers slid out of mine.

"Go!" he yelled and pushed me away. "Get away! Run! Louisa… I'm sorry!"

"MAR-TIN! NO!" I screamed and the sound from me was straight from my soul. "NO! COME OUT!" Tears plunged down my cheeks. "DON'T LEAVE ME!"

Doctor Martin Ellingham gave me a sad little smile but then turned around and went back into the burning room.

I don't know how many times I screamed his name until I was breathless from lack of air and the smoke that was now swirling outside. "MAR-TIN!"

Somebody grabbed me around the waist and pulled me away. My streaming eyes could only see a dense cloud of black, shot through with glimpses of the white building, as tongues of flame penetrated upper walls and leapt from the second story windows.

"You okay Miss?" the someone asked. "Calm down, calm down," he was repeating mechanically. It was our waiter. "Kitchen fires – all that grease," he muttered. "All that bloody…"

I tried to fight him off; tried to get free. "No! NO! MAR-TIN! OH GOD! Let ME GO!" I pried at his hands. "Let me GO!" I was trying to crawl, the rough paving tearing up my knees and hose. I lost a shoe in the fight as I kicked at the man holding me back. But he held me fast.

"Calm down, calm down! Fire Protection… on the way…" he told me.

In the background I started to be aware of sirens, people yelling, a car starting and being moved. Someone was shouting something about getting back but all I wanted – no _needed_ – was to find Martin – to get him out – to take him home.

"MAR-TIN!" I shrieked. "God, no! Mart-TIN!"

Now I was on my knees trying to crawl forward, but the man held me far too tightly. I struck at his hands, now crying, screaming, growling, and finally weakly pleading. "Please? Please? Let me go? I have to…"

"No," he told me. "No. We _can't_ …"

A chunk of roof collapsed in a shower of sparks and burning boards.

My heart fell. "Martin? Martin? NO, don't leave me! You _can't_ LEAVE me… and the BABY… _YOUR_ baby…" I screamed into my fist. "YOUR…"

The smoke cloud swirled and moved aside for a moment just as I saw a large-bodied man come out of it, with a smoke smudged ginger-haired boy beside, the two of them dragging the collapsed Vicar.

The oddly matched team towed the man across the road for twenty feet, right towards us. The tall man dropped to his knees, jabbed fingers into his neck, and dropped an ear to the Vicar's face. Then he sat up, tilted the Vicar's neck back and began mouth-to-mouth for three puffs, then went to chest compressions. Back he went to the mouth and then pushed on the chest; over and over.

Douglas, the ginger, sank to the grass coughing and retching but he was alive. He'd made it out alive.

But I was fascinated by the tall man. Was it? Could it be? "Is it…?" I asked weakly. "Who?"

The rescuer's face was smoke blackened and he coughed horribly, in racking spells, but his large hands were swift and sure as they worked on the Vicar who lay lifeless on the macadam.

When the tall man turned his red-rimmed and green-iris eyes towards me my heart jumped for joy and so did the baby in me, for I saw that Doctor Martin Ellingham, Portwenn GP, was hard at work.

That made me cry all the harder.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36 – Clearing the air**

The medic finished putting plasters on my scraped knees while Martin flapped about in the background bombarding her with questions. "Have you checked her oxygen levels a second time? What did the spirometer readings show? Is her blood pressure back to normal?"

The medic cocked her blonde head at me and asked me, "Is he always like this?"

Martin went on. "You can see she's… uhm, expecting a _baby_ , so don't dilly dally any further!" His face was still smoke smudged despite the rough scrub up one of the other medics gave him.

"Martin, I am quite alright." I winced as I shifted a scraped leg sending a twinge up my leg.

"Then why are you crying?" he replied. He then crouched down to inspect the bandaging on my knee from the rough pavement. "Humph. All the same, we ought to go to hospital for ultrasound scan."

The medic glowered at him. "The miss appears to _me_ to be fine. A trifle smudged but looking good," the medic glowered at him. " _You_ … however, I heard _you_ coughing _again_. So you're next."

Martin straightened and tried to clear his throat furtively. "No. I'm fine."

"I'm crying from the smoke," I said to him then got out of the way and guided him to the bench in the ambulance. "You're next. Sit. Stay."

The medic took that as a cue to start an exam on Martin. I wrapped a blanket about myself more firmly for the evening air had gone cold and not helped by the spray from the fire hoses. The medic started the same drill she'd put me through and I watched for a few moments.

"Lousier?" said a well-known Cornish voice so I turned to see Joe Penhale peering at me from outside. "I heard the call on the radio. Fire and rescue needed! ASAP! So I got here right after the second fire apparatus got on scene." It was amusing to hear Joe launch into his puffed up form of police-ese. "I'd have been here _sooner_ , but I was… out… on _patrol_."

"Hello Joe." I asked him the question I feared to. "Did everyone get out?"

Joe nodded. "Affirmative." He cast a huge smile at Martin. "Not the least of which was due to this big fella." He reached into the van to lightly punch Martin on the shoulder. "Our Doc saved the day I hear. Half of the dynamic duo!"

"Oh God," Martin groaned. "Go away."

"Shhh!" retorted the medic who had her stethoscope in use. "I'm workin' here! Git!"

Joe drew me away from the van a few steps. "No, I mean it, Louiser. They took the Vicar to hospital."

"Yeah." I rubbed my arms. "Horrible. Bit frightening."

Joe got a sad look then put his arms around me. "Don't you worry, Louiser. You're safe now."

"Ahm, thanks Joe," I said as he crushed me tightly, but he let me go after a second.

"Sorry," he glanced down at my belly. "Touch for luck."

I sighed. "Yeah." There was this _thing_ about touching pregnant women's stomachs. Weird.

Joe smiled. "I was talking to that young fella," he pointed at the young waiter's assistant who was being interviewed by the Fire Commander. "He alerted everybody and called 9-9-9."

"His name is Douglas. Excuse me, Joe." I walked over to Douglas and the boy smiled when he saw me. "Thank you," I said to him at a break in the question-and-answer between the boy and the fireman.

The fireman nodded to me. "Ma'am. Fire Commander Spenser. Just doin' a report. This lad recognized there was a fire in the ventilation system. In these old buildings sometimes the builders can take a short cut; don't always make the ducting proper."

The boy nodded. "There was flame shooting from the ducting that went past the vent hood over the stove. The chef had been complaining about all the dirt up in there. The owner didn't want to shut down for a half day to clean it." He pointed to the white-shirted chef who was being given oxygen from the back of another ambulance. "He saw the flame first up in the hood. But he ran."

The man nodded grimly. "Probably burning for some time." He went back to his forms. "Now when was this?"

"Excuse me," I butted in. "One thing," I addressed Douglas, "you helped Martin, that is my…" What was Martin? My boyfriend? Fiancé? "My _friend_ pull the Vicar out."

"Oh yeah. After I yelled _fire_ , I went back to kichen and pulled the fire bottle over the stove. All the customers and workers were out the door or nearly. Then was I lookin' to see if anybody else was in there. I couldn't see much, too much smoke, in the dining area and there was the old gent just layin' there.."

"The Vicar?"

"Yep. I guess. White collar. Anyway he'd sorta' slumped out of his chair. I tried to get him up." He grinned. "But he was too heavy. Then your friend came over and got him off the floor. I helped too then we came out through that busted window." He pointed to where the window used to be in the gaping hole in the front of the building.

Burned timbers still blew dark smoke. "Right 'bout there." The hole in the wall went from floor up to the third floor. The kid sighed. "I suppose I need a new job now."

I patted his arm. "Oh one will turn up." I kissed his cheek and he blushed. "Thank you for saving me and my baby. And my… friend Martin."

The Fire Commander nodded. "Good lad! All it takes is one to do something, like your friend, or we'd have had fatalities. Luckily everyone escaped." His pen was poised over his clipboard. "Now, can you tell me his full name?"

The medic eventually lost her argument with Martin. She wanted him to go to Truro Hospital to get checked out. He just told her _no_. So after Joe's jeep was moved Martin could retrieve his car.

Martin sagged back against the seat as we drove away. "Sorry about dinner," he muttered. He gingerly held the wheel with his fingertips trying not to touch anything for his hands were dirty. Oh how he hated filth.

"Oh," I sighed, "one of those things." I reached across the seat to touch his elbow, which he did not shrug off.

"Those _idiots_ nearly killed us! Grease filled vents, blocked fire exits…" he grumbled. "They belong in gaol!"

"The Vicar?"

Martin glanced at me and grimaced. "He _likely_ suffered at least a TIA; transient ischemic attack."

"What's that?"

"A partial stroke. Then I fear he may have inhaled quite a lot of smoke, and a cardiac event as well, that was what demanded CPR."

I shook my head. "Ah." Still my eyes ran tears.

"Louisa when we return home I can lavage your eyes with saline solution. Smoke is both a bronchial and visual irritant."

I bit my lip and cradled my belly tightly. "Martin…"

"Anything wrong?"

I sighed. "Stop the car."

"What? Why? We'll be home in twenty minutes. Feel any twinges? Pains? Shall I …"

" _Martin_ …" I said through gritted teeth, "STOP the bloody car!"

So he ducked his head and at the next turnout pulled to the side. After the car came to a halt he put it in Park. "I've stopped."

I turned towards him, took a deep breath and said what I needed to say.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37 – Cards on the table**

My heart was hammering away in my chest like a racing horse but I had to put my cards on the table. I took a deep breath and asked him, "Martin, what was that back there?"

He stared at me. "Uhm, just why are you…"

I threw my thumb over my shoulder. "You went back in; into that…"

"Right."

"Martin!" My arm flailed out of its own accord and struck his shoulder a glancing blow. "Why did you do that? You could have been killed!" I looked at my fingers and they were coated with greasy soot from his coat sleeve plus I had two broken fingernails and all the rest were ragged.

He ducked his head. "Louisa, I…"

"There I was getting into a panic thinking we were going to die; you, me, the baby, all of us, but you smashed the window so we could get out. But you stayed behind!"

"Those idiots," he spat, "blocking the side exit! Imbeciles! Criminals!"

"But _you_ did get us out! Oh my God! Ace! But there you were playing the _hero_ and didn't follow me outside the building! Damn it!"

He stared at me, face frozen but I went on picking on him. "Finally, finally, I've been thinking that thank God we got things settled; you and me, and we can have some sort of life together, or I thought so. But the fire…"

"Louisa…"

"NO! Let me finish! A blazing inferno, the smoke so thick I could barely see, and you found a way to get us of it. Miracle really. So did you HAVE to stay inside a burning building? All well and good when we were kids to play at cops and firemen…"

He turned his face away as he gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"But then you pushed me outside and _didn't_ come with me! Mar-TIN! You could have been KILLED! Just when I thought you and me were finally on the same page but right then I thought I'd have to watch…" Now tears were flowing in a steady stream. "Watch you DIE! Why didn't you come out with me? I'm so… _upset_ I could spit! Playing at bloody fireman! Honestly!"

His head drooped. "Are you finished?"

I rubbed my streaming eyes. "Look at me. Screaming at you for doing a brave thing. But why, Martin? WHY? Why did you do it?" I thought I would have become a widow tonight and we weren't even married.

"I did save you, Louisa," he sighed. "And you're being very hormonal."

"Hormonal? Damn straight I'm bloody _hormonal_! MARTIN! You're the man I _love_ , the _father_ of my _child_ , and you threw yourself into a fire like that! So of course I'm HORMONAL! I've got baby coming out every which way, I leak pee everything I cough or laugh, I've got heartburn to beat the band, my back aches, and even my feet are getting fat! Not to mention…"

Martin leaned forward and rested his head on the wheel uttering a faint groan.

"Martin?" I cried to him but he didn't respond just sitting there like a crash test dummy. "Hey, you okay?"

His head came up; he rolled his shoulders and turned his head slightly towards me. "Sorry about the… uhm… hormonal comment. Uncalled for."

I dug a tissue out of handbag wiped my face and blew my nose. "And I'm sorry for yelling. But…"

"But?" he said.

"But _why_? You could have been _killed_." Where would I have been then? The baby kicked as if to say she was just as afraid as her mother.

He reached down to start the car but I grabbed his hand. "Martin? _Please_ tell me. Why did you put yourself in _danger_ back there? When you went down that cliff to rescue the baker it was at the point of a gun but this was different."

He ducked his head. "When I was a student…"

"Yes?"

He started the car and took the brake off.

So much of Martin's past was a mystery. I wasn't about to let him off the hook now. "Martin? Don't shut me out."

He turned to face me and I saw his face was strained.

"Come on. You can tell me," I coaxed.

He licked his lips. "I was a newly graduated surgeon and there was a fire in a restaurant which claimed three lives. Just like the kitchen fire tonight caused by grease plus improper cleaning and maintenance."

"Horrible, but at least _this_ time no one died."

He grunted. "Louisa _one_ of the victims made it hospital alive. I was part of the team which supported casualty patients. We also supported the burns unit."

Then it hit me. "Oh. So that's why…"

He nodded. "The man was twenty-eight, a dish washer. He had burns over sixty percent of his body. Deep third-degree burns most of it." He shook himself. "As much as I think the Vicar is a fool, I…"

I took his hand and held it in a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry."

He wrinkled his nose. "We had to take away dead tissue; surgically. He lost… well… much. The man's organs finally failed, all that tissue damage destroyed kidneys and liver plus his lungs were seared."

"Oh Martin it must have been horrible."

He sighed. "He lived for almost six days. His family visited every day. Father, mother, cousins, a grandmum." He looked hard at me. "It was the most challenging case… no, patient… I had seen up to then."

I looked at Martin Ellingham, the gruff and stoic person that I knew, but saw the hurt of his experience on the face I loved. "Shame."

He shook his head. "We couldn't give him enough morphine you see."

Oh Lord. "Ah. The poor man."

Martin looked me straight in the eye. "Yes, _ah_. That's why I went back in to drag that fool of a Vicar out. I _wasn't_ playing _hero_ Louisa. I did what _had_ to be done." He turned to face ahead. "And I apologize that you got upset but it _had_ to be that way. I couldn't… _wouldn't_ turn my back on him."

Then I knew that Martin did care for others and always would, just in a medical way. I kissed his cheek. "I'm glad you did it then. Proud of you."

A hand came up and touched my cheek and then he asked softly, "Home? We stink of smoke."

I was proud of Martin but also feared that someday he'd get into trouble caring too much for them and not enough for himself or for me. "Yes." I patted his hand. "Take us home Martin."

 **Author's note:**

 **To all members of emergency services and our armed forces who go where most of us never will; for they run towards danger, while the rest of us flee, this chapter is dedicated.**


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38 – A ghost**

So that got us to the weekend. The old Dame on Downton Abbey had asked, "What's a weekend?"

A weekend for me was having a lie-in both mornings, then a late breakfast or early lunch, and then start running errands. Dirty clothes needed to be washed, dried, and ironed, I had to pay bills and set my bank account to rights, get to the co-op for food… oh and take Martin's suit to the dry-cleaners after the conflagration.

We didn't talk about the fire, sort of built a wall around it and moved on. But, and it was a big but, I always did know that Martin would do what needed to be done to save life and limb, no matter the waste of time or personal cost. When I thought back to that moment of thinking he was dying, or dead already, I shook; and that was what had haunted my dreams or perhaps caused by my smoke-tinged hair in spite of the thorough washing I had before bed.

Martin's idea of a Saturday morning was to still arise at 5:30 for his usual routine for he always had surgery from 8:30 to noon, he washed, shaved, dressed, ate breakfast, did the washing up, took a brick walk to the top of the point and back, then he set to cleaning and straightening the surgery before Pauline rushed in downstairs at 8:29 ack-emma.

Hearing the clip-clop of Pauline's platform shows on the terrace, the bang of the front door, and the mumbling responses she gave Martin, I had to rise. What I wanted was to lounge around the house in PJs and slippers while nursing a cup of weak tea while I read lurid celebrity gossip-rags. "Hell," I muttered as I rolled out of bed. "Louiser the landscape has changed." It wouldn't do for Pauline lamb to know I was a bed hugger on Saturday's; must keep up an appearance.

I used the toilet then emerging to the bedroom looked at my profile in the long mirror in the corner. Face wasn't too puffy today, but what hadn't gone to my face seemed to have settled in my chest for they were bigger and so was my belly. "Lor, the exploding woman," I groaned. I turned side-to-side in front of the mirror examining the reflected ravages of impending motherhood. "Just how big is this thing going to get?" I felt the baby down there solid and firm to the touch. "Not complaining," I told it, "just wondering."

The full-length mirror had been brought over by Joan Norton, along with the slightly bashed-up dressing table in the corner of the bedroom. She'd brought them to the house Friday afternoon then popped by school to tell me about it.

The students were gone for the day and it was pretty quiet.

"Least I could do," she told me about the furniture. "How's Martin? How are… things?"

"Fine," I replied. "He's… well..." I picked up my handbag, dug out by wallet and fished out a £20 note, all I had, and slid it across the desk to her.

Joan eyed it warily. 'No, I couldn't. The furniture is all jumble shop stuff."

"Well then let me pay for your fuel for the ride to Truro last week."

She sighed then scooped the bill away and pocketed it. "Right."

To spare her embarrassment, I told her formally that I had moved in with her nephew.

"I heard," she smiled. "Not much that is a secret in this place. Someone can blow off and in ten minutes I'd hear about from the gossip net. Congratulations though. I'd very glad he's stepped up to some responsibilities."

"Joan it wasn't all his fault… when I came back to the village… I wasn't sure. Perhaps we didn't really understand what the other was saying when I came back?"

Joan held up a hand. "Stop. I don't need to know."

I nodded. "Fine. So anyway I moved in and I will say…"

She raised her eyebrows. "None of my business."

"No, no, Joan, I was going to say that Martin seems _very_ quiet."

"Ah."

"Ah?"

She nodded her white-haired head. "When he was a boy he'd go extremely silent when something was not to his liking."

"Must be me." Was it me? Our close quarters? Having sex on a regular basis? Facing fatherhood?

She chuckled. "Oh Louisa, it could be, but my nephew is a bundle of contradictions. He'll yell and scream and then got dead quiet in the next few seconds." She crossed her arms. "Just don't let him run roughshod over you. I know how he can get when he's upset."

I started to bite my lip. "So the silent treatment means he's upset about something."

Her mouth took a grim set. "Yes, I know. Martin has his own way about him. _Unique_ on the planet. But remember it is an _adjustment_ ; living together."

I nodded to her.

"The house is _his_ and you're the interloper, that it? He'll have his boxers all squared away next to the socks I'm sure. You…"

I opened my mouth but stopped. Just how much of our business did I want to air? Joan was Martin's aunt, she knew him better than anyone, but no – not too much. I changed the subject. "He told me about Dr. Montgomery."

"Oh?" Now Joan looked concerned. "What did he say about her?"

"Just the facts actually. Med school and so forth.

Joan shook her head. "Oh. And so forth," she said meaningfully.

"He did say it ended between when she left the country, but I did reply that I thought she would be all over him if he gave her the nod."

She shook her head. "And what did he say to that?"

"Told me… well, he scoffed at the idea."

Joan crossed her arms and lowered her voice. "It's one of the reasons he doesn't drink anymore. Did he tell you that?"

I had been shuffling files on my desk but what she said made me stare up at her. "Really? No, he didn't add that… uhm, detail." Hard to imagine him as a drinker!

Joan nodded. "Not that he needed AA or anything like that but my sister told me he went through a very rough patch. All the more reason he threw himself so intensely into surgery."

"Your _sister_?" Somehow that was more shocking than an ancient drinking problem. "You have a sister?"

Joan frowned. "Ruth. Between me and Christopher. Martin never mentioned her?"

"No. She's in London?"

"Yes. A psychiatrist; Broadmoor Prison. Loves mucking about with those sorts who are very mucked up." Her finger twirled the air by her temple. "Loony murderers."

"Right." I shook my head. "Someone has to do it." I wondered if my dad had a shrink evaluate him in jail. Likely.

Joan smiled at me. "The schooling smarts went to my older siblings. I barely got past my A-levels. Fresh air, chickens, sheep, and veg always did suit me better," she chuckled. A shadow passed over her. "And my late husband Phil of course."

"So Martin has an Aunt _Ruth_. Does she come down here often? What's she like?"

Joan sniffed. "A lot like Martin – very analytical. Scares the daylights out of my neighbors when she visits with her pithy comments and insight. Luckily she hasn't been here in years. I'm surprised you never heard about her."

"No." She sounded like fun or perhaps not.

Joan added, "Actually Louisa, Ruth is very smart and caring, just in her _own_ way." She smiled. "Best be off. Need anything? Call."

It was one of the things I wanted to discuss with Martin over dinner but of course the building burned down. I then intended to ask him about his phantom aunt at bedtime, but I lay exhausted and yawning after we got home.

But now it was Saturday and when Martin closed the surgery at lunch, I'd have my chance to dig into his family. Who else was hiding in the shadows?

Martin was speaking rather harshly downstairs to someone as I drew my morning bath.

 **Author's note:**

 **Blow off – British term for passing gas, breaking wind, or farting.**


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39 – Other people**

Martin looked up from his lunch with a quizzical eye. "My aunt?"

"Yes. I was told by _your_ Aunt _Joan_ that you also have an Aunt _Ruth_."

His eyes grew larger. "Uhm, yes."

"That it? Just _yes_?" He didn't seem happy I knew about her.

"Yes, Louisa, I do have two aunts. She's between Joan and my father in birth order."

I nodded. "So you just never got around to mentioning her."

"She didn't come up. I haven't seen her for a number of years."

"Okay… any… other people hiding?"

He recoiled. "What do you mean? I'm not trying to hide anyone!"

That made me chuckle.

He sneered, "What's funny?"

I shook my head. "Nothing, only… well I'm just surprised is all. But there aren't any long-lost sisters, brothers, et cetera hanging about?"

"Certainly not," he huffed.

I patted his hand. "You just aren't very demonstrative."

He stared at me. "Meaning, what exactly?"

I sensed he was getting mad. "Nothing Martin. So back to your Aunt Ruth? Married? London I hear?"

"No, she's single. Yes in London, works at Broadmoor Prison with the criminally insane." He curled his lip. "Those in society who are impaired with regards to…"

"I _know_ ," I snapped. "And you haven't seen her in a while."

"We exchange Christmas telephone calls."

"Calls, right. Cozy," I said, then went back to my soup sloshing the vegetables back and forth in the broth. "Good soup."

He warily picked up his spoon. "And no Louisa, I have _no_ other family. My mother Margaret had a sister who died when a teenager; a road accident I understand. Both grandfathers were only children like me." He stared past my shoulder. "As I said… small family."

I frowned. "Just like mine. Just me, mum, and dad. Dad had no sibs; nor mum."

Martin ducked his head. "She went to Spain."

I sighed. "Yes, she did. I was nearly ten when she ran off with a Spanish boyfriend she took off a trawler." It still hurt. "She came back for a visit when I was eleven, asked me to go south with her to Spain."

"But you didn't," grunted Martin. "Obviously."

I shook my head. "She was a stranger by then. Me and dad didn't need _her_. Besides he and I were always…" I stopped for I almost had used the word _simpatico_. "You know." I seemed weird to use a Spanish word considering mum's new guy was Spanish.

He lowered his spoon. "No."

I shrugged. "Well, dad and I got along and… and… I didn't need _her_ ; not then. Or anymore."

Martin stiffened. "But…"

I had to wipe my eyes for they were suddenly brimming with tears. "Let's stop talking about it."

He reached across the table to touch my cheek with the back of his fingers so I grabbed it tightly.

"Thank you," I told him.

I saw him swallow hard the way his Adam's apple bobbed.

"Right," he muttered.

I dug a crumpled tissue out of my jeans and blew my nose.

Martin grunted. "Aunt Joan and my mother were in secondary school together. That's how dad met mum."

"I see." I picked up a piece of crusty fresh bread, baked this morning, and bit into it. Chewing the crunchy piece, I asked, "When will you tell your parents about the baby? It'll be their grandchild."

He sprang up from his chair. "NO!" he shouted firmly and he looked white as a sheet.

"But… what about…?"

He was shaking his head side-to-side.

"So you don't want to." I knew things between him and his parents were frosty but this? Was it me and having a baby out of marriage? "I'm the country girl? That it?"

His eyes were white all around and his mouth took a firm set. "Louisa, no."

"So Martin what's wrong then?"

He turned away to the window, facing it and grabbed the counter edge. "I don't want _them_ to have _anything_ to do with us… or _you_ or the _baby_!" I saw his back and neck strain as he said it.

The air in the house had gone dead quiet.

He'd mentioned being punished by both his parents; with his dad's table tennis paddle or shoved into the cupboard under the stairs. I carefully rose and approached him, not touching him, just standing close. I heard him sigh when he glanced to the side and saw me. I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

"No, Louisa, they will have nothing to do with our child," he told me softly.

"Sure it's not because of me?" I squeaked.

Now he whirled to face me. "Louisa for God's sake! Of course not!" He stared down at me rigidly but I saw in his eyes a wild look.

Then I got it. He _had_ been ill-treated. I saw the way he held his body rigidly. So, I was wrong. It's worse than I thought. He must have been abused; both physically and mentally. "Okay." I knew something about children who had been mistreated. Might that explain some of what made him the way he was? Cold, aloof, and repressed most times?

His lip curled. "They are vile," came out softly after a long silence. "And… I must have been a difficult child."

I touched his arm to show sympathy but the touch of my hand must have set him off for he threw his arms around me and pulled me close into a hug. He didn't make a sound, and I wondered what was going on inside that lovely, massive head of his. My heart was breaking imagining what he'd gone through. No Martin, it was _their_ fault, not _yours_ , I said inside my head.

He didn't make a sound, but after a minute or so he dropped his arms and walked towards his consulting room.

"Martin?" I called after him, but he kept walking away.


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40 – Talking**

I knew it was difficult for Martin to talk about his feelings, but he did have them because why would he go to such lengths to hide them if he didn't have them? He wasn't a robot and I knew that very well. I followed him into surgery where he had busied himself adjusting items on his already well-arranged desk while I watched from the door.

"Want to talk?" I asked after a minute of his precise reorganizing.

He peeped sheepishly at me then back to the desk. "No."

I sat down in his visitor's chair so at least he had to look at me. "Okay," I told him.

That prompted him to sit down as he folded his hands and stared down.

"Studying your shoes?" I asked.

That made him face me. "Alright. I… erh, was an… unwanted child."

"What?"

"My mother told me she didn't want me! The prime reason I was sent away to school at such a young age and down to Joan's farm during school holidays."

"You must be joking!" I yelled, but I knew he never joked.

He slowly shook his head. "No, I'm not." He sighed and I saw his hands turn white as they clasped one another tightly.

I stood, walked around the desk, and crouched down next to him. "I'm here Martin."

He glanced at me, his lips tightening.

"That's…" I started to say, and then he reached over and took my hand. His fingers had gone cold. I sighed to him, "I'm so sorry."

"Mm."

I let the silence grow. A gull screamed outside joined by avian brothers and sisters as Martin winced, almost like they were crying out for him.

He shook himself. "Nothing to be done for it now," he muttered. He withdrew his hand and his eyes looked drawn now, as his lips compressed tightly.

I looked deep into his tortured eyes. "Well _my_ mum didn't want me or dad either after a while. She found a Spanish lover more to her liking. _Javier_ was the name. Martin, I get it. I mean… I'm not saying I _totally_ understand… but I do… in a way. Trying to."

He cracked his neck and stood up. The swivel chair creaked as his weight came off it. He reached down to turn it a few degrees and it squeaked again. "This chair needs lubrication," he muttered.

This is what Martin does; he hides what bothers him with a factual statement, usually about medicine. This time it was the chair but it a classic case of misdirection.

I struggled to stand, leaning on his desk. He was suddenly at my side taking a hand and elbow to help me stand erect.

"Steady," he said.

Martin, always trying to take care of me. But who took care of him? "Joan," I blurted out. "That's why the farm… and she… are so important to you."

He nodded. "School holidays were…" he stopped reaching for words.

"Fresh air, fields, sheep, all that," I volunteered.

He nodded. "My aunt and uncle could not have children. I suppose…."

I put an arm around his waist and smiled encouragingly. "I can see it when Joan looks at you; calls you Marty. I've heard her say that to you – _Marty_. No one else calls you that."

"She must assume I am still ten years old," he murmured.

I took his hand and pressed it to my belly. "Martin you are not ten or eleven. You're a grown man. This is our baby; our child, yours and mine."

He looked at me and winced. "Right."

I was reaching up to kiss him when I heard a female call from the kitchen. "Hello? Doc?"

"God," he moaned. "We left the back door open."

Footsteps came down the hallway and Pippa Woodley stood in the doorway holding her left wrist with her right hand. "Sorry Louisa, sorry Doc," she said. "Didn't mean to barge in, but I stumbled on the steps at the co-op market. Caught myself but it hurts like blazes. Hope I didn't break it. Looks like I'm interruptin' something." Her eyes nearly smiled at me. "And I do know surgery is closed."

I saw she had an oozing scrape on her knee as well. "Oh you _are_ hurt," I said. "Martin, can you…?"

Martin's arms dropped from my belly and back, and then one hand pointed to the exam table. "You. Sit there. I'll examine it."

Pippa came in limping so while Martin went to wash his hands, I took her arm and helped her onto the exam table.

"Thank you Louisa, uhm, we'll discuss… later…," he said as he dried his hands. "The thing."

I got a paper towel and blotted the trickle of blood coursing down Pippa's bare leg. "Sure," I answered, then on impulse kissed his cheek which shocked him I'm sure in the presence of a third party.

Pippa laughed. "You two. Like love birds."

Martin cut her off. "None of your business, now let's look at the wrist and knee. Did you hit your head?"

I went out the door. "Martin, I'll just clean up our lunch things."

"Ahm, yes," he said but he didn't really pay attention to me. He was in doctor mode.

"Now Mrs. Uhm?" he asked Pippa.

"Woodley," she answered.

He harrumphed. "Yes, any dizziness? History of fainting? Nausea?"

I cleared lunch away and while Martin rendered first aid I decided I ought to talk to Joan, for there was more about his upbringing I wished to know.


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41 – Outsiders and Villagers**

Martin told me he had some things to do in the surgery. ' _Paperwork'_ he called it, so I went for a short walk and then to the co-op market.

"Louisa!" Mrs. Dickinson hailed me as I went inside. "First a madman and then a fire? What's on for tonight?"

"Oh, uhm, hi," I stammered. "Been a busy end of week, yes." Anybody but Sandie Dickinson, but I tried to smile at her anyway.

Her blue eyes twinkled from under long and messy blonde curls, for they were always tangled by the wind. She pushed her hair back from her face. "And Doc Martin? How is he? Oh look at you, you are glowing!" she exclaimed. "Ready to pop soon. You're getting so HUGE!"

Just what I needed was to be told I was fat! "Eight weeks," I muttered trying to get past her in the narrow aisle.

"And our GP?" she asked. "How is he?"

"Martin is fine."

"Oh? I heard you two… well might we say… are back _together_?" She brought her hands together suggestively with fingers intertwined. "I hear… oh, none of _my_ business," she chuckled. "But I do wager he was very… very… _glad_ to, uhm, _have_ you back, if you get my drift?" She winked. "But you know how he can be. Carrie Wilson was quite taken with our Doc, but who wouldn't be?" she smirked. "So as I was sayin'…"

"Right," I answered as I picked up a basket. "Pardon, but I need to do shopping for our dinner." I went around her knowing she wanted to pry.

But she wouldn't take the hint and followed me. "Has he asked you to marry? When will Mr. Strain be back – if ever? And who is that ginger-haired woman that's been seen up at surgery; the one with the fancy car?"

I whirled to face her. "Sandie, now you're digging up grist for the gossip mill. Stop."

"Sorry, Louisa, it's just that… well…" she stepped closer and her voice fell to a whisper. "We, uhm, I, just worry about you dear girl."

I had known Sandie Dickinson since I had come back to the village from Uni. If there was a central nexus for gossip in this place it was her. She and her cousin moved down here to write. The cousin eventually moved up to Exeter when she got a boyfriend but Sandie had stayed on, churning out lurid bodice rippers at the rate of two per year. I had read one or two of her productions. One was titled "Pirate Prince of Passion," and though titillating it was mostly romantic trash, bordering on the mildly pornographic, especially on pages 85 to 88. Some images just will not leave my memory.

I suspected a lot of lonely women used to go for that sort of thing but not me, although there was the character of the village doctor in that other book of hers… I shook my head to address the matter at hand. "I am _perfectly_ fine, thank you. Got my old job back."

"Only temporarily," she threw out.

"I'm back with Martin."

"At the moment, luv." Her eyes shone wickedly.

"And we're going to have our baby – _together_."

"Oh my dear, _don't_ count your chickens until they hatch, Louisa, you _ought_ to know that."

It was clear that there was nothing I could tell her anyway, other than to bugger off, so I turned on my heel and left her gaping at my back. But there was not a secret in this village that was sure. Sandie had asked some of the very same questions I asked myself. Edith? Him? Me? Our baby? I knew I was only nervous. Lots of mums get that way; first baby and all that, but still. Instead I tried to concentrate on the squash in the bin on front of me. Yellow or green?

Mike Chub stepped up to me. "Miss Glasson, hello." His ruddy face shone under his thinning white hair. My dad used to work for Mike, well that is he tried, but Mike always had a soft spot for my family, despite my dad getting fired for missing the boat.

"Hello, Mike. How are you?" This was a small village and there was conversation everywhere you went. It was one of the reasons that Martin seemed stuffy to my fellow villagers. Small talk to Martin was a waste of both time and air so he'd barge past with a cross stare, a curt nod, or an abrupt 'goodbye.' "Fish any good this season?"

"Fish aren't that bad. Say I heard about the fire and all. You okay? I saw a clip on the telly of the aftermath. Saw you and the Doc getting into his car right at the end of the video. And I heard the Doc pulled the Vicar out of that blaze?"

I nodded. "He did yes. Luckily."

"How is our Vicar?"

"In Hospital. I'll look in on him next week."

Mike started. "Hospital?" he stared down at my huge (yes it _was_ huge) belly. "Everything okay there?"

I touched my waist briefly as I was feeling little kicks. "Yeah, Mike. No worries. Just a routine scan."

He smiled. "Good, good. Musta been scary at the restaurant though."

How could I tell him I was more frightened to see Martin going back inside? I bit my lip. "It was, yes. Very."

Mike nodded. "Right. And I hear the Fire Inspector will make a finding of negligence to the owners of the place."

"Yes, heard that as well."

Mike smiled and patted my hand. "Everybody got out."

"There was this young boy, just a kid, he raised the alarm. A worker. But for him…" I had to wipe a damp eye. "Sorry."

"Right." Mike bobbed his head. "All's well that ends well then." He brightened. "You and the Doc?"

I smiled at the oblique question. "We're doing alright, Mike."

He beamed. "I'll leave you to it."

Sandie Dickinson had lived here for nearly fifteen years but she was still an outsider with her poke-her-nose-into-your-business ways, but Mike was a friend. Mike Chubb knew me and dad, and my mum, from way back. He had driven dad and mum to Hospital when mum was in labor with me. He'd given mum and dad a refinished antique cot for me when I was a newborn. Mike had never married so I was a surrogate daughter, sort of. A kindly man; one of us.

That made me think about Martin. Would he ever be one of us? I knew the answer. Not quite; no. But from the very first… there was something about him… something that made me see… he was different. But different in a good way. He cared for our health, was very good at it, he was always handsomely dressed, not a hair out of place, but he tolerated no foolishness. There wasn't a funny bone in his body. There were times he'd say something quite amusing, and didn't know it, and it made me chuckle. Having missed the joke he'd tip his head to one side and ask me, "What?"

I was learned to smile at him when he did that. "You made a joke Martin."

He'd glance to the side. "Oh," he'd mutter then change the subject. Did he think he had to be serious all the time?

I finished my shopping and carried my basket over to the cashier.

Mrs. Greer silently rang up my purchases and waited until I handed her my cash card to ask me, "You're sure you're okay up there with him?" her head pointed across the harbor towards Martin's house.

Not another one! "Yeah, yeah, I am."

She sniffed. "If it suits you that's all that matters."

I took up the bag handles. "Thank you."

She nodded. "Take care, Miss Glasson, you and that baby." She gave me back my card. "Don't you let folks get into your head with their own ideas."

"Sure," I answered. "I'll remember that."


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42 - A Shock**

The house was quiet when I entered, other than the creak of Martin's chair from his surgery. I was certain he'd lubricate it before the day was out for he hated things to be out of sorts.

I had bought veggies, a nice sole, crusty bread, and a berry-apple crumble for afters thinking it was fairly well balanced. I had found a container of brown rice in the pantry so there were plenty of carbs and with butter and lemon zest the sole would be very nice when broiled.

I folded the carry bags and tucked them into the cupboard for I knew Martin appreciated, demanded actually, things were put away properly. He'd pointed that out repeatedly, so much so, it seemed more of a mantra than a lecture.

I told him as much the other day in the bathroom.

"Mantra?"

"Yes, Martin. I get it."

He ducked his head. "I just don't like things to be," he waved a hand. "Out of sorts."

"And I make your things out of sorts?"

He turned away and straightened the toothpaste tube on the shelf. "No."

I sighed at him while wondering why it was necessary to touch the toothpaste tube and move it a fraction of an inch.

"Problem?" he asked.

"No. Look, this is your house. I'm the..."

His head flew up. "You're what Louisa? What are you saying?"

My eyes fell under his stare. "Just a house guest." Lip quivering I added, "This arrangement..."

"Arrangement?"

I was afraid to look at him so I turned away. "You've got plans and my being here... well."

He followed me downstairs and caught up as I picked up my bag for school.

He actually blocked the door so I had to look at him. He breathed deeply. "Louisa, I do... want... you..."

The front door banged open and Pauline rushed inside saying, "Sorry Doc! Late again, I know."

Martin shook his head. "We..." He cleared his throat then whispered, "we need to talk."

Pauline smirked at us. "You two."

Martin looked daggers at her as I muttered a goodbye and left for school.

Then there was the fire and all that and his revelation about the way his parents felt about him so our baggage seemed to be piling up.

I heard him on the phone as I made tea. Martin was trying in his own way to make things nice; as nice as he could. Perhaps I tended to pull back at times for I could get timid as well, stepping back when things seemed a bit sticky.

I proudly carried the tea things in to his office on a tray thinking how domestic it seemed. He looked startled when I pushed the door open.

He was sitting bolt upright speaking into the desk phone in his clipped way. "Too long," he said. "You've repeated yourself." Seeing the tea tray, he moved typed pages aside, indicating I should put the tray down on his desk. As he moved the papers, one fluttered to the floor.

I put the tray down and knelt awkwardly to retrieve the lost page, my waist long gone behind the baby.

Martin's eyes boggled as I flipped the page over. It was a manuscript title page, marked up in blue ink, the edits penned in the margins in Martin's scrawl. The title in bold print read 'Swimmers in the Stream: The Role of Cervical Secretions in Spermatozoa Motility and Potency.'

The author's name under the title was that of _Dr. Edith Montgomery_.

My heart skipped a beat. "Martin, just what is this?" I managed to say, as the room spun about me.

 **Author's note about reviews today Jan. 1, 2016:**

 **I can read all new reviews posted about chapter 42 as those are also sent to my private email. However as of 11:40 PM EST (GMT-5) none of those reviews are visible on the fanfiction website. I assume this will be corrected soon.**


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43 – Reality**

My hand was shaking holding the paper out for him to see.

His face went pale as he looked at me. "Problem?"

"I… thought… thought" I whispered, "you were done… with… _her_?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish, then he said into the phone. "I must go." He slowly lowered the handset and put it on the cradle. His eyes flicked away from me then back as he took a deep breath.

I stood my ground but my whole body quivering. "Mar-tin?"

"Edith… that is Dr. Montgomery, asked me to edit her presentation."

I slowly nodded while the baby squirmed down below almost feeling what I was feeling. "I see." And here I was all getting all happy and domestic; but not anymore with reality intruding its ugly head.

He went on, "It's not…"

"Not what?"

" _Not_ what you might think," he added.

I crossed my arms. "Oh? Well just what is it then? What do you think that I think?"

He shook his head. "Well, actually, I'm not _quite_ sure."

I slammed the page down on his desk. "No you don't! You can't! You never will!" I turned on my heel and left the room in a huff.

In the kitchen I snatched my handbag to go out the door but I stopped with my hand on the doorknob. No, Louisa. _Don't_ leave the house, I told myself. Not again. I turned and saw Martin watching me from the hall door.

"Well?" I asked him.

He ducked his head. "I appreciate that you might be…"

"Be what? What am I Martin? Pregnant? Single? Hormonal?" I sighed. "Well I am all of those and _very_ upset."

I saw his eyes stare at my handbag. "You were leaving."

"No. Yes, I was, but no, I'm not… not… now." I was torn between leaving to avoid a fight and staying to deal with him.

He nodded. "Right." He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. "Care to sit?"

"Fine," I said frostily. I really didn't want to have a chat about it but okay, I'd sit down at least.

He watched me warily as I took a seat and folded my hands in front of me. "Go on then."

His green eyes stared at me.

"Well?" I prodded him. Why did I feel like I was reprimanding one of the kids being naughty at recess? Might it be I was mad and that Martin's posture, the way he didn't want to look at me plus the set of his jaw, telegraphed guilt? Was it all a programmed set of Head Teacher - Acting I corrected myself – responses to catching him out?

He sighed. "I had made a commitment to Dr. Montgomery to review her paper. I told her I would do it before I… uhm, we, got back together; before you moved in."

"Yeah," I told him more just to let him know I heard him.

"And I was, that is, I have been working on the revisions. I sent her a few edits by email but decided it was better to discuss those changes with her on the telephone." He said slowly and carefully but still looked like he was about to bolt. "So I was speaking to her when you carried in the tea tray."

It was my turn to sigh. "Fine."

His glaring eyes skittered over me. "Fine?"

"Fine as in go on."

"Go on with what?"

"Just, do what you were doing, Martin."

He looked around the room then at me. "But you're not happy about it."

"Well why would I be happy, Mart-tin? Hm? If you were going to help her _at least_ tell me about it. Otherwise…"

"Otherwise what?"

I shook my head. "Martin, I know that it is hard for you to say things – to tell _me_ things. But in this case you ought to have."

"What?"

I sighed as my hands clenched together, trying to let him see that we could discuss this calmly; well mostly for my eyes were very wet. "Look, if you told her you'd edit her paper then do it. You _don't_ need my permission. Only I _would have_ appreciated _knowing_ about it."

"Oh." His lip twitched. "Because of the, uhm, history."

I nodded. "Right. _Past_ history not present. Am I right about that? You said that was over."

"Louisa! I've told you that any association with Dr. Montgomery…"

"Edith."

"Alright, Edith is strictly on a professional basis. Yes, that was the past – when we were in medical school."

I nodded but had to let out a small sigh.

"But you're still not happy," he asked.

I shook my head. "Not exactly joyous, no. I just don't want to be played the fool."

His face screwed up. "No Louisa I would never do that. I… apologize for our… my…" he gulped, "mix-up."

I looked at him hard for a few moments before saying, "Thank you."

He cocked his head at me. "I can see that you must be – upset – as you said. And I am, that is I am sorry, Louisa. You are…" he stopped. "Are very understanding of my shortcomings."

There it was; what I never expected to hear him say. My heart broke a bit just hearing him admit it. Who was I to punish him when I was the one to run away to London? He had enough grief in one lifetime. No need me for to add to that pile. I felt like I was the one who should be apologizing for I felt very ashamed.

I shook my head and reached across the table to touch his hand. "Martin, you're no saint, but I'm… not either and I'm sorry I flew off the handle."

He nodded. "Yes. Accepted." He fumbled for my hand and held it gently. "Look…"

In that moment I felt closer to him than I had for days.

He stared at me. "And in that fire all I could think about was getting you and the baby outside the building. All I wanted…" he sighed, "was to see you safe."

I watched as he nearly teared up. "Right."

He cleared his throat. "So I understand how my actions with that medical paper and the author would have upset you, given personal reasons, so effectively I have been hiding it. For that I am sorry. I ought to have trusted in you."

I squeezed his hand. "Tea's getting cold."

He nodded. "You hadn't poured the water but it will likely need to be re-boiled."

Martin, ever the practical one. Tea and near tears. I looked tenderly at the man. A great doctor, always keeping me safe, and taking care of me. I should not have doubted him. The baby kicked and of course I smiled as that little foot or elbow moved.

"Louisa, is there something wrong?" he asked his hand warm in mine.

I put my other hand on the spot where the baby had poked me and rubbed it. "No. There's not."


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44 – Love**

We got through the weekend without any further kerfuffle, which was actually quite nice; chuffed to bits about it. Too many times I felt like I was on thin ice Martin for one wrong move and I'd be spluttering in icy water.

We shopped Saturday afternoon in Truro for a baby cot, clothing for a newborn, and a few things I needed. Martin was rather quiet during the whole affair, merely making minor comments, all of a factual nature, about the safety of or suitability of this or that.

There were awkward moments in the shops when clerks tried to chat him up about impending fatherhood. I'm certain that Martin was quite self-conscious to be seen out in public with my pregnant self. I know that he didn't like anyone being in his business, but still? All those people were strangers to us, except for the clerk in the baby store who clearly knew him.

"Oh Dr. Ellingham!" a white-haired woman at the counter trilled when we entered the place. "Hello!"

He muttered, "Oh God. Uhm, I'll wait in the car." But the clerk fell on him like a raptor on a rabbit.

"Oh my goodness," the woman gushed when she came over to us. "So surprised to see you! It's been what? Ages? My you have grown into a fine specimen Marty. Quite handsome and I could have sworn I saw you on the telly other night."

Martin looked at her from under frowning brows. "You are?"

"Sandra Bailey! Or I was then. I'm Sandra Billingsley now. You remember me! Surely you must!" the woman told him, and then she turned to me. "Hello, I'm Sandra," she held out a hand which I shook.

"Louisa Glasson," I said. "I'm with Martin."

The woman looked me up and down and said to him, "Well _what_ a _beauty_ she is, Martin. I'm sure your par… ents… er, _you_ must be very pleased!" Then she smiled at me. "Sorry my dear, I've known Martin since he was about fifteen!" she laughed. "Sorry Martin or I should say Dr. Ellingham. What a surprise."

Martin stood stiffly next to me. "Uhm, yes. Right. What do you want?"

"Why I own this shop! Been living down here with my husband. He was in the RAF you see. Now retired of course." Sandra looked pointedly at my enormity. "And you will soon need a baby cot? Other things as well? How many weeks until the baby comes love?"

"Eight, actually." I rather squirmed under her gaze. "And just how do you know Martin?" I asked as I knew he wouldn't say.

"Miss Bailey," he muttered, "was our house maid from when I was fifteen until I finished medical school."

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Oh yes," she bit her lip, "that was…" her look clouded, "not the best of times at the ends, was it?" She reached out to touch his hand softly. "How are you? I never actually found out… what happened next. After."

"Ahem, I am now serving as GP in Portwenn and surroundings," he told her. "Just now…" he turned to me for support. "We're shopping."

"Right," I butted in, "Martin is our village doctor. But _yes_ , we do need a baby cot and a changing table."

She innocently asked him, "But you were in surgery? Portwenn's very small. Too small for that, surely."

I took her elbow and pulled her towards a rack of merchandise. "What about those cots over there? All in white? That work for you Martin?"

He nodded but I saw his face was frozen.

I beamed at him encouragingly. "Good. If you care to wait in the car go ahead. I'll text when the purchases are made."

He relaxed but then he commanded, "Fine. Make sure the mattress and supports are quite firm to prevent the infant from rolling over too readily. And the cot must have fixed sides, no sliding gates. As well as padding on the sides for when the child starts to learn to scoot about and…"

I nodded to him. "Yes. We've discussed that. Good. Now off you go," I told him and he disappeared out the door.

Sandra Billingsley watched him leave, her face gone tender. "How is he?"

"Martin's a wonderful man." I saw her inspecting my left hand. "And no we're not married."

She nodded. "I see."

There was the phrase I hated.

She cleared her throat. "Are you good to him?"

"That's quite something to ask considering we've just met."

She answered me kindly, "You likely know things were difficult for him. His mum and dad were challenging; demanding. He wasn't home often after he started uni and then medical school, but I knew… well… he always tried to please them; especially his mum. Nothing he ever did seemed to make either of them give the lad a word of encouragement. Nothing was ever good enough, as if they were king and queen of the bloody world."

I nodded. "Yeah, I've heard a bit about that."

Her lips tightened. "And then there was that Dr. Montgomery thing. Poor lamb. She broke his heart."

"Ah."

Sandra looked around then lowered her voice. "It nearly broke his spirit if you hadn't heard. I remember when he came home – a horrible weekend. The house was empty but for me, Cook, and the gardener. _They_ were out. Christopher had a row with Margaret and left. She 'had a headache' and went to her spa." She snorted. "She had a boyfriend on the side I'm certain, just like her husband. That is he never lacked for female companionship."

"Oh," I said. "They were like that."

Sandra shook her head sadly. "Martin had been so happy – rare to see him that way. You see a few months before he came by he announced he was engaged to be married. It was all working out. A career at St. Thomas in surgery, a wife who was also a doctor, or soon would be; all was right with the world. But there he was three days before they graduated and he looked like something out of the gutter; eyes red, clothes rumpled, like he hadn't slept for days and smelling like a pub floor after a rough Saturday night. He always was very proper but factual and smart looking. But… right then he was a wreck."

I sighed. "I did hear about Edith Montgomery."

"Oh yes, that's the witch. Toyed with the boy and then dumped him."

"Well he's past that. So long ago."

She crossed her arms. "So you must be someone special if he's with you."

"Well, we're having a baby together, as you can see."

Sandra nodded. "Be good to my Marty."

"Okay. Yes." I nodded. "I try to be."

"And I hope he's good to you."

"Oh yes, he's always making sure I'm fine." That was true, but there were times I could use a hug or a kind word. But the dishes were always clean, meals were nutritious, the laundry always well folded and the house as well arranged as he could make it around my messiness. I sighed.

The woman smiled. "Relationships can be interesting, can't they?"

"Oh yes. Now about that cot…"

She smiled. "To the task at hand. Right. His parents were gone for two days that weekend we staff got him sorted him out. I had the gardener take Marty up for a cleanup and shave. Then we poured hot soup, good homemade bread, and coffee into him until he could tell us the tale." She sighed. "Poor lamb. That witch had enticed Martin to move into her flat. He thought because she loved him. He _finally_ understood she was trading sex with her for his tutoring." She tapped her temple. " _Smart_ was that ginger trollop. Used the boy for what he was worth then ditched him. The Canadians could have her and keep her!"

I'd heard Martin's side of it and this squared it. "She used his emotions to get what she needed and Martin didn't know how people can be that way. He thought she loved him back."

She shook her head sadly. "Wasn't love at all was it?"

"Not then." I smiled at Sandra. "He's come a very long way since then," I reassured her.

She put her arm around me. "Love, just don't break his heart."

"I understand and no, I won't."

"Sitting in kitchen sobbing into his soup he said he'd _never_ love again."

The baby rolled over putting the lie to that. "Well, I think he's gotten past that rocky patch," I chuckled.

Sandra bobbed her head. "Tell you what? I can give you a special price today. Call it a baby shower gift. For Marty and you as well."

"Oh, right."


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45 – Plans**

Martin carried the things into the house. "Shall I take these upstairs?"

I was standing in the doorway kneading my aching back. "Please? I'm for a lie-down." I leaned to the side and felt a twinge. "Feels like my feet are swollen, not that I can see them very well from here."

He looked downward. "Yes. Elevate them while I haul the dunnage freight." He got a pained look. "I mean the freight that we bought, that is, not that I am making any sort of comment about your, ahem, weight."

"Sure."

"That is I am certain that your weight gain is entirely appropriate… uhm, proportionate to your… that is an _optimum_ pregnancy…"

I stopped his lips with a quick peck on the mouth. "Stop! No facts and figures! Apology accepted if it was an apology. Now move aside while this _appropriately heavy_ pregnant woman makes her way up the stairs."

His neck dropped. "Well how am I supposed to comment?"

I had taken one step up, but I turned to face him, my belly right against his waist. "Martin Ellingham, the only _appropriate_ comment to make about a woman's weight, especially this one who is tired with swollen feet and ankles, I have an aching back, and a bladder about to spring a leak is to _NOT_. Get it?"

He barely nodded. "Right."

"Good." I smiled at him and gave him another quick kiss. "Our next baby _you_ get to carry."

He started. "That's…" he said. "Oh, a joke."

I nodded. "Good. You're learning." I left him at the bottom of the step as I wearily climbed up the second floor. Lord only knows what he was thinking about the sight of my bum with I swear had gotten larger just this afternoon.

Upstairs I used the loo, kicked off shoes, and went straight to bed, laying down on my right side, with a pillow jammed between my knees. Lying thus when my bulge pulled sideways it did odd things to my hips; sort of a dull ache.

Martin lugged our purchases to the spare room then he came in to check on me, pulling the duvet up to my waist and putting a large glass of water on the bedside table for me.

"Thank you Martin, for everything," I told him.

"Yes. I…"

I heard him stop in the doorway and I craned my head to look at him. "Something wrong?"

"That woman, Sandra Bailey."

"I think she said her married name was Billingsley."

He waved a hand. "Fine. She, uhm, I hope she didn't fill your head with any _rubbish_."

I smiled encouragingly at him. "No. She told me you were very studious, intelligent, smartly dressed." That much was true. "A fine young man then."

I saw him relax slightly. "Ah."

Unbidden I said, "And she also told me how much Edith Montgomery hurt you when you were graduating."

I saw his face freeze as he gulped. "God."

I rolled onto my back so I could see him better. "Martin it's alright. She only told me so I'd know… that she was glad for you that you'd found someone else."

He looked aside then turned to face me. "Oh, right."

I felt so bad for him. Had I upset the applecart with that fact? He looked very cautious; nearly ready to bolt. I waved him over. "Come here, would you?"

He stiffly approached the bed as he looked at me.

I clumsily scooted away from the edge of the bed and patted the spot where a few more inches of mattress were now exposed. "Sit down."

He gingerly sat down and I put my hand around his waist. He cleared his throat. "Right."

I shook my head at him as I stroked the small of his back. "Thank you for taking care of me. The house, all the dinners you've cooked, the shopping."

"I'll pay you back for the cot and the other things," he said. "Write you a cheque."

I almost laughed at the serious way he said it. "No, it's fine, Martin. This isn't about the money."

He sighed slowly. "This morning you seemed to think… claim actually…"

My turn to freeze. I'd as much made a roundabout statement to him that our arrangement was temporary. I was wrong and I knew it.

He harrumphed. "Uhm that… our agreement? That all this?" his large hand waved around the room from the new baby clothes just bought to the dressing table piled with my makeup things. "Was only a _temp job_ ," he muttered. "Just for the duration."

"Martin I was only saying that this is _your_ house." I'd said that for I felt that I was just a house guest. Perhaps a house guest with benefits.

"But _you_ live here now."

I bit my lip. "I've been so unfair to you." This had been eating at him.

He shrugged. "Yet _you're_ the one that's expecting a baby. You didn't ask to get pregnant did you?"

There was that. Engaged, an undiscovered pregnancy, then we didn't marry, and I left the village, but then I came back. "Bit of a surprise. But it's fine."

"You're fine?" his face screwed up in pain.

My eyes fell under his stare. "Just a house guest, I said to you. That was unfair, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "So Louisa, you told that woman you were with me." His lips pressed together. "Are you?"

I was afraid to look at him so I turned away. "You've got plans and my being here... well I'm likely in your way."

His face turned towards the window. "No you're wrong Louisa. Before you returned to Portwenn I was considering, _planning_ actually, on leaving."

"What?"

He turned to face me. "I was."

"But where to?"

He took a breath. "London."

"Really?"

"Yes," he moaned. "Try my hand at surgery again." He held out his hands and looked at them. "Golden hands, they used to say about me." He turned them over and inspected their backs, flexed the fingers slowly, and then turned them palm up, peering at them closely. "I've tried to do _simple_ things you know. Cut up a liver, stitch up a rare beefsteak, that sort of thing." He gulped heavily and shook his head.

My heart sank. "So you're saying we're to move to London, just when I've got my old job back?" Well that's just fine. Bollocks!

His troubled eyes bored into mine. "No."

"But if that's what you want, and you're good at it, then do it! We'll…" I took a deep breath for all my pipe dreams were dashed. The thought of raising my child in my village, my home, was why I came back here; that and the large hunk of man who sat on the bed propped up against my thigh. "We can do that. Right. Good. If you want to we will."

His large head shook from side to side. "I can't do it."

"What? You mean move? Of course we can move house! Just give the word."

He gave a barking laugh. "No. You _don't_ understand."

"What's that?"

He blew air from his nose slowly and he seemed to deflate as he did so. "I still get light-headed, with nausea, vomiting."

"Surely there must be something we can do?" Isn't it funny how the word _we_ jumped out there?

He shrugged. "I've tried. Concentration exercises, anxiety reduction drills; nothing works."

I patted his back. "There must be something we can do."

He stood up, shot his cuffs and tugged at his tie. "Unlikely anything would work," he muttered. "That path is closed off for me. I can't do surgery if I can't cut into a body; a _patient_ that is, if I vomit on them."

I watched as he walked to the door where he stopped. "I'll assemble the cot," he said forlornly.

"Martin…" I felt a tear run down my face for lots of reasons. Partly for him and partly for me. "No that's fine. It will keep."

He shrugged. "Needs to be done."

I lay there crying silent tears as I heard him work in the spare room as he unpacked the flat pack of the cot for our baby and put it together.

So we didn't have an actual fight, but it might as well have been for a dash of sadness settled on both of us. I was happy we'd didn't have an actual row, but I knew that Martin was unhappy – _really_ unhappy. Worst of all was that there wasn't a thing I could do about it.

I couldn't turn him back into a surgeon. Which I would if I could, if that one thing could make Martin Ellingham happy to be in Portwenn.


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter 46 – School**

Monday I was deluged by parents 'just dropping by' to let me know that they were quite pleased that Mr. Strain was no longer our Head teacher and to heap both congrats and concerns onto me. By the time the fourth or fifth had passed through my office I was knackered and my frozen smile was wearing thin.

By the time lunch rolled around I was even more tired because the usual tasks of running a school swamped any of the feelings I'd received from parents.

The school governors wanted a special meeting with me, the expenses were a shambles again after Allison our cook decided to buy _two_ months of frozen meat all at once, four of the school toilets were suddenly backed up and the new village plumber could not come until tomorrow, Mr. Colley was developing a bad cough and he gave me a long harangue about dirt the students tracked and right then the school printer decided to pack it in.

My secretary saw me standing miserably as I examined the wreckage of the machine.

"It's just a machine, Miss Glasson," Sally Chadwick said as I held the print cartridge in my hands. Turning it over and over there were loose bits rolling around inside the housing.

I sighed. "Did putting in a new one of these in help?"

Sally wrinkled her nose. "That is the new one you've got there." She nudged an empty carton on the floor with her foot. "Last one we've got."

That's when I tossed her the ruined device and marched into the staff restroom. I parked myself on one of the working toilets so I could have a good cry in peace but when I heard the hall door open I stifled myself. The moment was ruined when I had to blow my nose on toilet tissue.

"Miss Glasson?" I heard Sally ask.

I flushed the toilet to cover my sniffles. "Ahm, yes?"

"You okay in here?"

Plagued by too many things at once I decided to pull up my big girl pants, get myself rearranged and came out of the stall.

Sally put her arm around my shoulders. "There, there," she soothed. "Work and all. Things okay with the baby?"

I could only nod.

She smiled. "Then that's good, isn't it?" Her hand stroked my back. "The Doc?"

I said, "He's fine." That was a half-truth but Sally didn't need to know how worried I was about him. How could he bear to stay in the village? Portwenn was tiny and the residents off-putting… "Uhm _you_ know," I added for everyone knew that Martin could be – difficult. "I don't think he's very happy at the moment." I broke the tet-a-tet by starting to wash my hands. Too much information Louisa! Don't overshare for heaven's sake!

Sally dampened a towel at the other sink and handed it to me. "Stu McKenzie just stopped in, so you put this on your eyes. Get 'em back to normal. They're pretty red; not great. I'll give him tea and a chatup, and when you're ready you come back to your office. Right?"

"You're very helpful," I told her.

"Just get yourself together, Right?" She smiled. "Miss Glasson I'm only willing to help."

Sally went to delay Stu will I tried to compose myself. In a few minutes I'd calmed down, washed my face and patted it dry, and tucked flyaway hair back in place

"Miss Glasson!" Stu practically yelled as I approached my office. He was holding a tea mug and was all smiles.

Sally gave me an encouraging look. "Mr. McKenzie here to see you, Miss Glasson."

I put on my best expression and shook his hand. "Mr. McKenzie! Good of you to come by."

He nodded and casting a meaningful glance at Sally said, "Maybe we'd better do this behind closed doors."

Seated behind my desk with Stu parked in my visitor's chair I braced myself. "Now, what can I do for you?" I asked before folding my hands together to stop them from trembling.

He winked at me. "Acting head Teacher, I expect you will apply for the job. Be our head Teacher again?"

After Martin's revelation I had my doubts. I squared my shoulders. "Have to think about it."

He jumped. "Well, I was certain… uhm, it's Ellingham isn't it?"

"What, uhm, what's our GP got to do with it?"

"You two – back together – that's good. You our Head and him our GP! I figger we've got a winning team here in our village! Now you say you're not sure you want the job? I thought you want what's best for the kids? And isn't this why you came back?"

"I do. I do."

"Well…" he pointedly looked at my belly. "Someday that youngin will _be_ at this school. _Your_ school! Don't you want 'em to have the best education they can get?"

"Mr. McKenzie there are plenty of good schools about." I thought of London and the awful school I used to work in. Well the school, per se, wasn't that awful, it was just run oddly. "Some better than others - true."

Stu leaned back. "When we hired that tosser Strain I could tell he wasn't long term." He stood up and took my hand. "See that you fill out an application."

The way he said it made me laugh. "Not like I have a choice, is it?"

He was turning to the door but he said. "Like you could resist."

I watched his retreating back and knew he was totally one hundred percent exactly correct. "Too right, Mr. McKenzie." He was right. I did want to be the Head Teacher and have my own child be a student here.

But what about Martin and his little problem? I sighed for his problem was mine as well. Martin wasn't happy. How much of that was because of me?


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter 47 – Employment**

"You _will_ be able to take me to my appointment this afternoon?" I asked as I munched the last of my toast.

"I said I would," Martin grunted as he downed the last of his morning espresso.

I caught the edge in his voice. "You don't sound very happy about it."

He rinsed his coffee cup and put it in the dishwasher. "No, it's fine. Surgery is closed at noon."

I watched him wash his hands dealing with the coffee cup. He was stiff; reluctant to talk. But of course he frequently acted like this.

"I could ask Joan to take me or I could use the bus." Less than ideal but it would work. The bus ride was long and expensive and I hated to call on Joanie again.

He stared at me as he dried his hands. "I said I would take you and I will." He carefully hung up the towel but he cranked his head to look at me again. "Uhm…"

"Yes?"

His eyes darted away from me when he asked, "I couldn't help but notice you filling out an application last evening?"

"Yeah, I… well… I'm only filling in at school as Head. Everyone expects me to apply for the job."

He nodded. "I see."

I shrugged. "It's… well it stands to reason…"

"You are the most qualified but you _are_ expecting a baby. You should expect feeling fatigued as the end of gestation approaches. You ought to…" he stopped. "Sorry. I shouldn't be giving you a medical lecture."

So feeling exhausted will only get worse? Of course it will. "I know about that; being tired. Why do you think I take a nap most evenings?"

He nodded.

"And the application…" I started to say but there was more I was afraid to say or even think.

"Yes." His eyes bored into me.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I understand that you are filling out an application to be Head Teacher at Portwenn Primary." He looked at his watch. "I must brush my teeth and get ready for patients. Pauline will be here in moments." He left the room and marched upstairs in that quick way of his.

I looked down at the remains of my breakfast and felt my stomach lurch. "Louisa, that was so stupid! You didn't even talk to him about it. You just assume that he'll agree; go along with what you want. Idiot!"

I was still sitting there holding the crust of my toast when Pauline arrived flinging open the front door. "Morning!" she called out. "Morning Doc! Morning Lousier! How's that baby cooking goin'?"

"Sounds like I'm going to eat it when it's done, Pauline."

She laughed. "No, I meant how is your pregnancy progressing?" she intoned in a drop-dead perfect imitation of Martin with a deep voice to a stiff posture.

That did make me smile. "The usual."

She nodded as she made herself tea. "I think Al would like…" she stopped. "Well what I mean is it always seems that men must be thinking about getting us preggers, right? He does keep making hints about getting' hitched but I'm not so sure I want to right now."

I really didn't want to discuss babies, my pregnancy or any wedding plans with Pauline. She was one of the worst gossips in the village and Martin and I needed some privacy. I shook my head. "I must get ready for school." I looked at my watch to break the conversation. "Look at the time."

I waddled upstairs to brush my teeth and do my makeup. Martin was looking out the window at the harbor when I went into the bedroom.

"I'll some back here at noon, shall I? Or will you pick me up at school? We could have lunch on the way. There's time. My appointment is at one-thirty."

He nodded not taking his eyes on the water. "Right."

He was in a brown study. I took a deep breath. "Something wrong? Is it… Martin I _do_ want to apply to get my old job back."

He turned to face me. "Of course."

"I'm not trying to railroad you. Hope I'm not."

He cocked his head. "Railroad?"

My hands started to fiddle with drawstring of my maternity blouse. "We don't talk and we ought to – no _need_ to. You said you wanted to try surgery once more."

His face took on a strained look but he said nothing.

"Yet at the same time I want to work here in the village," I blurted out.

"I see."

"See what?"

He nodded. "You need a job - a better one; one that is stable and pays better. Head Teacher is likely it."

"Yes, but if things change – with your blood thing – then it would be different – when it does; if it does." I sighed. "I'm not saying this very well, am I?"

He sighed. "Neither one of us is."

The front door opened and slammed below us and I heard frantic voices. "Doc!" Pauline screeched. "Help! Got a bleeder down here!"

Martin sped to the door but stopped. "I'll see you at school at noon. Yes we will do lunch." Then he left, clattering down the stairs, and there were a lot of other things left hanging.


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter 48 – Reasons**

The café was just three miles from Hospital so we had plenty of time although Martin kept checking his watch obsessively. "Going somewhere?" I asked him in a teasing way.

The small café was in old Truro with the Hospital on the outskirts of town. I'd eaten there last year when I had a teacher's conference in the town. I was pleased to see it was still; open, for the food was good, and the furnishings pleasant. From the large ticking clock on the wall with a pendulum going to-and-fro to the tile floor and tin ceiling it was old-fashioned but pleasant.

Her dropped his arm and studied the menu. "I see the soup is a seafood stew," for changing the subject was a too common trait of his.

"Saw that," I answered. Then I pointed at the menu. "I wonder if the roast beef is any good?"

"Hm," he grunted, "as long as it's not overdone."

"I ask." The waiter came over and after inquired the way he hemmed and hawed I ordered a small salad with grilled chicken. Martin ordered his soup, and water of course.

"Water for me as well," I added.

"Have that up right quick," the boy answered and left us to ourselves.

I watched as Martin carefully moved his silverware. "I'm over here," I told him.

He dropped his hands to his lap. "Yes. You are."

"Did you see the clock there? Reminds me of your clocks."

Martin turned to look at it. "Likely a reproduction for the clock face is too shiny and the numerals are brass stampings. An antique would have the numerals painted. I did see it."

"Oh."

Martin stared at the clock which ticked loudly. "Nice case though."

I leaned back in my chair. "This morning I got the feeling you think me being head Teacher once more is a bad idea."

He turned to face me and straightened his tie which was perfect before he touched it. "Takes a lot of your time."

"Martin it's what I'm good at. You're a doctor; best one the village ever has had. Can't I be a teacher? So why not Head?"

He rolled his shoulders, a sure sign he was uncomfortable. "Louisa I'm not saying that you can't or ought not to."

"What are you saying?"

He took a deep breath. "When this baby comes…"

" _Our_ baby."

His lips twitched. "Yes, when our baby is born, uhm, the newborn will require care, constant care, and are you sure that you…"

The waiter slouched up and delivered two tall glasses which he gravely filled from a pitcher. Martin glared at the boy until the water pouring was done and the he left us.

"Martin, don't you think I have thought about it? The baby is due mid-to-late July. There's a break. When he or she is older – a few weeks or so – school will start again."

He grunted. "You'll leave the, our baby in the hands of stranger, while you work."

I nodded. "And are you going to shut surgery at the same time? Will you care for our baby with me? Help me out?"

He started. "I hadn't thought. It's not like I can shut surgery for a few weeks. The odd day here or there of course, as long as I can schedule…"

I crossed my arms to cut him off. "Right. So it's all up to me? Just like always?"

"No!" he hissed.

I sipped some water to cool off. I had been afraid of bringing it up but here it was. Childcare. "You probably want me to not work for the next 18 years? That it? Be a stay at home mum?"

"Louisa, no. But Portwenn is not exactly jam-packed with child minders is it?

"I've already talked to a couple of women. There are plenty about who would be glad to help – for money of course. Shouldn't be that hard to get a child-minder."

He sneered. "We shall have to have a detailed list made out. Qualifications, medical history, hours available; things like that." He shook his head. "We must ensure that our baby is well and happy with whomever we choose." He nodded. "Would you like me to help you with the interview process when the time comes?"

His suggestion nearly bowled me over. "Help; you're offering to help?"

His head drooped and when he looked at me his eyes seemed strained. "Yes."

"Martin you look like you are in pain."

He looked around the nearly empty café. "You left but you came back."

The sudden change of subject made my head whirl. "Say what?"

He said slowly, "You left Portwenn for London, without a word, but you came back. I appreciate that the village is your home, where you grew up, and I suppose," he stopped. "Stands to reason you would come back to have your, uhm, our, baby here."

I sighed. "Martin, it's complicated."

"And your school there was less than perfect?"

"Was difficult yes. Not a bed of roses. I told you that."

He stared at me. "I see."

The table was small but suddenly it felt much wider than it seemed our orders arrived just then so we tucked in and all conversation stopped for a while.

Martin finished his stew and praised the meal. "The prawns were small but good. The cod seemed a trifle overcooked though."

Nothing was ever perfect with Martin. "My salad with chicken was good." I set down my fork and wiped my mouth. "Loo break." I made my way to the facility and looked at my image carefully in the mirror when washing up. To all outward appearances my image appeared to be fine, but inside I was nervous and jumpy. Not about the clinic appointment – more about me and Martin.

We kept dancing about the central matter. Always on opposite sides it seemed.

Him and me, our jobs, the house, our baby. "The future," I said to my reflection. I touched up my makeup and went back to our table.

Martin was checking his watch as I sat down. "You alright?"

"Fine Martin."

He looked at his watch again. "We have a few minutes so I wanted to say something I ought to before."

The floor seemed to jolt but my chair was rock solid. It was me that was startled. "Yes?" What was this about now?

He cleared his throat. "I think I made a mistake."

"Ah." My hands went clammy and my head felt light. "About?"

He stared at me for a few seconds. "I have been thinking that I was mistaken in not contacting you when you were away. I appreciate you had a number of reasons for not contacting me. You had a new job and so forth and London must not have been easy to adjust to."

"I got on. Not as much of a country girl as you might think. I _did_ go to Uni there."

He shook his head. "But still I should have phoned."

I nodded at him. "Well I didn't give you much of an opening did I? I didn't even tell you goodbye. I'm as bad as my mum." Should I tell him how many times I almost phoned him at surgery or on his mobile? Fifty or a hundred times? He might laugh if I was truthful.

"What?"

"But mum at least left a note for me and my dad." Those unhappy memories made me wince. "So I was unfair to you Martin. I was eleven when my mum left us, a little girl really. I've tried to pretend I was all grownup over it, but I'm not." I had to take a breath and he opened his mouth to speak. '"Let me finish. But what I did to you – us – was cruel Martin. I should have told you." The reason for not saying goodbye was I feared my nerved would break and I would stay.

His eyes blinked rapidly. "Oh."

I shook my head and felt a tear slide down my cheek. "Eleanor did a runner. I guess I learned from her how to run."

The waiter came over to take our dishes and he looked quizzically at us.

"Shoo," Martin told him.

The table linen made a good tissue so I wiped my eyes. "Sorry about that. Sorry for all of it. I am."

"I should have come after you."

I shrugged.

"No, I ought to have done, Louisa. I supposed that you might be – unhappy – there. But I felt after a time that you had made your choice. By then it was past Christmas would have been presumptuous of me to arrive at your bedsit door like a lovesick boyfriend."

That was about when the cold hard facts of being alone and pregnant had sunk in. But the word he used made me inspect him carefully. "You said _lovesick_?"

"Yes," he muttered, "I was." Air blew form his nose slowly. "Perhaps…"

The clock on the wall clicked at the quarter hour and he sprang up. "Time. Mustn't be late for your scan," he said as he held out a hand to help me stand up. "Come." He paid at the counter and we went out to his car.

 _Lovesick_. That word burned in my brain as he began to drive. He said it; he said lovesick. Well how about that?


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter 49 - Measurements**

When we got out of the car at the hospital care park I noticed Martin tucked a large thick envelope under his arm. "What's that?"

From the way his face froze I could tell he wasn't happy I had noticed what he was carrying. "Edi… Dr. Montgomery's manuscript. I will leave it at her office. As you recall I told her I would review her work and I have."

"Right," I sniffed.

He picked up on my disapproval for he didn't say anything in reply, which is just as well. My teeth bit down on my lip. "Okay," came from me but I surely didn't feel that it was okay. She had hurt him terribly and she was still prowling around him. I wasn't at all certain that he understood my feelings but there were many things he didn't get about me. That thought brought me to a full stop. _'Louisa,'_ said a tiny voice in my head, _'can your jealousy stop? Just a few a minute or so?'_ I had been trying to get over it, but it hurt; a lot.

We got to the zebra-crossing and had to stop for a lorry which blocked our path for a few seconds. As I looked at Martin I saw he had that expression of sucking on a lemon. Although in his case most of the look was around his eyes and the nearly rigid way he held his shoulders.

He looked back. "Louisa…"

"Come on Martin let's not be late." I tugged on his arm and together, but silently, we entered the clinic wing.

I signed in at the OB clinic desk while Martin silently fidgeted, his piercing eyes examining all the mums waiting there. "It's fine, Martin," I told him when I managed to get him seated.

"Humph." He began to check his watch. "If there is a delay I could…" he held up the package, "uhm, deliver this?"

"No." I wanted to touch his knee but knew it would make him uncomfortable. "Please stay?"

He nodded and went back to inspecting the room of pregnant mums. No doubt he was diagnosing diabetes, high blood pressure, swollen ankles and knees, and water retention. Speaking of water I sipped on a small water bottle I had tucked into my handbag knowing they would ask for a urine sample.

After twenty minutes or so, while Martin tried to be invisible, they finally called my name. I rose and looked down at him. "You are coming, right?"

"Is this necessary?"

"I want you with me. This is your child. Ours."

I'll give him credit for he meekly followed me and the nurse into the exam room.

A different nurse than last time asked me a few questions to update my records, weigh me, etc. When she asked about my address I gave her Martin's. "That okay with you?" I whispered to him.

"Right." He stared at the nurse. "Why are we whispering?"

"It's fine Mr. Glasson," the nurse said.

He bellowed, "I'm not, we're… it's Martin Ellingham, Doctor. The father!"

The nurse smiled as she typed his name into her computer. "No worries." She gave me a plastic vial. "A sample please. Loo's down the way."

I came back and sat down in the hall where Martin sat with knees together and arms crossed looking mean. "What's wrong?" I asked.

He shook his head.

Alright Martin, fine, tell all and sundry how awkward you are sitting here in the OB clinic. Why not rent a big electric sign out front to advertise how bad I make you feel? How horrible I make you feel?

"Miss Glasson?" someone called my name.

It was Cara Welles the midwife nurse who saw me last time.

"We're ready," she said. "Hello," she said to Martin.

He nodded.

I sighed. "This is… Martin. My…"

"The baby's father," Martin grunted. "We're…"

Cara held out her hand to him. "Nurse Welles and I'll be performing the ultrasound today. Questions?"

Martin opened his mouth but I nudged him, so he shut it. He glumly shook her hand though.

Cara measured my belly top to bottom and side-to-side as she asked all the usual questions. Feeling fine? Eating well? Any problems? And so forth.

Once again Martin tried to imitate the wallpaper. I thought he might get into the spirit of the thing today but I was wrong. So in due course I was propped on an examination table with cold gel coating my bare belly as Nurse Welles manipulated the ultrasound wand over my baby bump. Today though it felt more lump-like than bump.

"Just let me get a decent picture here," Cara muttered. Turning my head I could see an image build up on a monitor.

There was a little head and a little arm… God there's the baby! I heard a strange noise, almost a grunt and it was Martin.

"Martin?"

His eyes were open wide.

"Martin?" I repeated. "You're not going to pass out are you?"

He gulped but shook his head no. He approached the screen and looked around the nurse at the image there.

Just then Cara tapped a button on two on the screen. She jumped as she looked at the results. "Just a moment. Uhm, I'll be right back."

That must have jolted Martin from his trance. "Stop! What is the matter?"

Cara faced him. "I'm not sure. It might be, could be…" her voice trailed off.

"Is my baby fine?" I blurted out.

She turned a scared face to me. "The baby's size may be a bit small."

Martin prodded, "Show me."

She tried to fend him away. "Sir, if you would? Just let me get the doctor."

"No," he responded. "I am a surgeon and a GP. Now quit beating about the bush and explain yourself!"

Voice quivering she said, "I've just computed the fetal head circumference. It might be SGA. Small for Gestational Age" She looked down at me. "Miss Glasson it could be that your baby is not receiving proper nutrition thru the placenta, or there could be other factors which have retarded its growth."

Martin was peering at the screen and also at the side of the monitor. "No."

"What?"

"Her dates are correct, if that's what you will ask next. Secondly when was the last time this machine was calibrated?"

"It ought to have been this month," she muttered. "But my measurements show…"

He cut her off with a wave. "Her weight is appropriate for her progress, she does not have diabetes of pregnancy, she has better than normal nutrition, she has avoided drugs and alcohol, has been taking her neonatal vitamins scrupulously, and fundal height is in the proper range for this week of her gestation. So how is it possible, unless there has been an undiagnosed issue, up till now, that the baby has a small head?"

It was Cara's turn to gulp. "The machine…"

"Show me," he commanded. "Repeat the measurements."

He watched as she maneuvered the wand over me and my heart was in my throat. What was facing us? Oh my God, would my baby have a real problem?

"There," Cara pointedly said. "Same as last time. Nearly. Now let me get Dr. Montgomery. Just be a moment."

She had taken a step when Martin pulled her back. "Stop. Look," he pointed to a label on the machine. "This date is last December! This should indicate what date the machine was last serviced or calibrated. December? It's practically criminal!"

Cara inspected the scrap of paper. "That can't be right."

Martin glared at her. "How many women have been examined using this potentially faulty piece of equipment since then? Hm?"

Her face fell. "Perhaps it's all a mistake. Perhaps the technician serviced it and forgot to put a new label on it?"

Martin sneered at her. "Oh really? That the best you can do? Not much of an excuse is it? What if you were pregnant and you were examined on this faulty apparatus, and then were given an _ERRONEUS_ and _CONCERNING_ diagnosis concerning the health of your baby? How would _that_ make _you_ feel?"

She looked from him to me. "Actually I am expecting." A small tear ran down her cheek.

Martin sniffed. "There you go."

"Martin, what are you saying?" I asked with quivering voice. "Is our baby okay?"

He stood straighter. "All the other facts do not support this SGA nonsense, Louisa." He turned to face the stricken looking Cara. "Now, if you would, get a WORKING machine in here?"

She nodded. "Yes, right away." She scurried out of the room.

Martin came to me and brushed a finger against my cheek. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine."

I looked up at him as I said, "I hope so."


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter 50 - Confrontation**

I tried to speak, but Martin shushed me. I cocked my head and said to him, "Martin, you really think she made a mistake?"

He cleared his throat. "Likely."

"Likely?"

He squirmed. "Most certainly."

"But that's not quite the same as 100% sure, is it? Is it as you said or is something really wrong?"

"Louisa, this piece of equipment has not been calibrated or serviced in months! Idiots," he sneered. "Honestly."

That didn't make me feel better as I felt the baby turn flip-flops. As I looked at Martin, I wanted him to put an arm around me, but he wasn't into touchy-feely outside our bedroom, so I sighed at him.

He looked at the monitor where the grainy white and black image of our child was frozen. He put his face close to it, examined the picture for several seconds, and grunted.

"Martin? Something else?"

He bit his lip. "Uhm... it _could_ be..."

We were interrupted by the clatter of hard heels moving at high speed, squeaking wheels, and harsh mutters from out in the hall. The door was suddenly thrown open and Edith Montgomery barged in, followed by Cara who was pushing another ultrasound machine.

As usual Edith was perfectly turned out in well fitted black trousers, a cream blouse, and an orange and black vest. The trim clothing suited her slender build, short ginger hair and gray eyes, but in a mannish sort of way. Her shoes though, were all girl from ultra-pointed toes to rhinestone bows.

In comparison, I felt fat and awful, with my large exposed belly smeared with gooey gel. Compared to her slender, but well-togged out figure, I must look like a pig dressed up for a costume party, although I thought my red and white maternity top and blue blazer was cute.

Edith glared at Martin, cast a nasty look at me, and then turned her attention fully to him. "Ellingham? Just what are you playing at?"

Martin stood up and pointed to the screen. "It is my opinion that this, uhm… nurse… person, has misdiagnosed SGA due to reliance on out of calibration test equipment, lack of consideration of all the facts, and a dearth of medical supervision! Edith, I am _once again_ appalled that you allow this sort of nonsense in your clinic! However, considering your already demonstrated shockingly poor diagnostic skills I am not one bit surprised!"

"Mar-tin," I said, catching at his sleeve. "Not so harsh. Must you?"

His voice softened a little. "Miss Glasson has been made concerned by..." he waved a hand at the screen image, "your _so-called_ measurements... and what they may mean. Not that I believe any of it."

Edith came to the table on which I lay and peered at me. "Miss Glasson is it possible that you made a mistake?"

"What do you mean?"

She gave me a smirk. "Just when did you have sex with Dr. Ellingham?"

Martin exploded at her saying, "How dare you! Her dates are correct in the chart! Rest assured those ARE correct!"

Edith tipped her head towards him. "A word, Ellingham?" She pushed open the hall door. "Can we? Go through?"

Cara Welles stood well out of the way guarding the new ultrasound with her body. "Dr. Montgomery? Shall I?" she asked meekly.

Edith's head snapped around at the poor nurse. "Get to it!"

Martin followed Edith out the door, but he popped his head back in. "Louisa, it'll be fine. Just give me, us, a moment."

Cara Welles set up the new ultrasound while I fidgeted. She looked down at me and forced a small smile. "He does protect you doesn't he?'

"Martin is a very good doctor and yes he does take care of me; protect, as you said."

She nodded as she worked setting up the new machine. "I've no idea how this mix up happened. Hospital has cut staff, and it may be that something got bollixed."

I heard a few muffled words outside the door; some in Martin's deep tones, and the rest from Edith. Over the next minute or so, his got louder and louder, and so did hers.

Cara glanced at me. "Dogs worrying over a bone sounds like."

"What?"

"Territory. Who's the bigger and better doctor," she giggled. "Sorry. But you may guess that Dr. Montgomery," she stopped. "Well she can act…"

"Like the cock-of-the-walk." I sighed. "I can see that. Martin can be no different when he gets his back up."

There came a crash of angry words outside, then silence for a split second, followed by a sharp smack of flesh on flesh.

The door opened and Edith marched in with fire in her eyes with her heels clacking on the tile. "Now," she hissed, "let's get this sorted, shall we?"

From her fiery manner I wanted her far away from me. "Where's Martin?"

Edith nudged Cara away from the machine, set some switches, and then brusquely ran the ultrasound wand over my belly, pushing down hard, which made me grunt. She winced when I did. "Just a second, Miss Glasson."

I bit my lip until it was over, wondering again if Martin might be wrong? Was my baby going to have a problem?

Edith and Cara conferred over the machine in hushed tones while I chewed my lower lip to shreds and tried to calm my throbbing heart. God, I prayed, please, _please_ , let it be alright? Still no Martin though; as if he'd melted away when outside the door.

"Right," Edith snapped to Cara. "See you get this entered correctly, I don't want ANY more mix-ups. Got it?"

"Yes, Dr. Montgomery," Cara said timidly.

Edith stared at me for long seconds as my heart jumped into my throat. "Miss Glasson, good news," she announced. "Your baby is fine. You can rest easy."

"Oh my God," I mumbled. "So it's all fine?"

"Yes," Edith nodded as she forced a phony looking smile. "I hope this little… _misunderstanding_ … won't color your opinion of the clinic?"

"No. As long as it all comes out fine."

She nodded. "Good. Right."

Just as she turned to the door, it swong open and Martin stepped in, his left cheek red and swollen. He looked at me self-assuredly. "Everything fine?"

"What happened to your face?" I asked, as Edith pushed past him and scuttled out the door, her head down.

"Nothing," he replied. "Just a…"

"A what?"

He sighed. "Call it a clearing of the air, is all."

"Oh?" I asked.

He answered, "We can discuss it later."


	51. Chapter 51

**Chapter 51 – Answers**

Cara made me my next appointment, and handed me tissues so I could clean the goop off myself. I struggled off the exam couch and into my jacket then she ushered me and Martin out to the corridor. "See you next month, then," she said a bit more cheerily than before. "And with the baby's head down that's good news for the next two months." She leaned her head at Martin. "Dr. Ellingham, thank you for sorting that out back there."

"Uhm, yes," he mumbled.

"No I mean it," she replied. "Now I'll review the past months' records and see if there are other mums which we gave 'bad news' to. You taught me something; check your tools."

He nodded. "Of what use would a surgeon be with dull tools? Your tools _and_ your intellect must remain sharp if you are to remain in top form. You can't let your guard down for a moment."

Cara nodded slowly. "Right. Well, thank you." She reached out and tried to take his hand, but he flinched and backed away. She looked confused. "Sorry. Just grateful. You stopped me from making an awful mess."

Martin stared at her cautiously. " _Not_ best practice – hugging – touching."

I interrupted, saying, "Nurse Welles, Martin is just saying some might get the wrong idea."

She smiled and hugged me instead. "Goodbye then. Next month."

I watched her walk away and hoped that today's medical glitch would be useful to her. I found Martin looking at me with a strange expression. "What?"

He blinked and looked away. "Nothing."

I turned his head with my hand to inspect his cheek. "That must have hurt."

He shrugged.

"Edith slapped you?" I touched the fading red spot and he winced.

He brushed a bit of fluff off his jacket, shot his cuffs and touched his tie. "I must see Chris Parson. His office is the other wing. Just for a few minutes."

"Okay." We walked down the way out to the main lobby. Seeing the Information sign, I towed Martin along with me. "Excuse me," I addressed the clerk sitting there and asked her for the room of our Vicar.

She inspected her computer screen. "Room 417. This wing. Take the lift at the end of the hall up to four."

Martin raised a quizzical eyebrow. "The Vicar?"

"If you're going to see Chris I can visit the man at least. Oh and there's the gift shop. I ought to buy him flowers and a mag."

Martin shook his head. "Louisa, I won't be that long."

I took his hand. "Poor man both a small stroke and smoke inhalation. I expect he may appreciate a visit."

Martin pointed looked at his watch. "You must be tired and we ought to get you home so you can rest."

"I'm fine." I knew that Martin was not happy with our Vicar, given their history.

"Alright," he agreed. "I will collect you at his room in ten minutes."

"Make it fifteen."

"Fine," he sighed.

"What are you going to see Chris about? Tell him I say hello."

He fidgeted and wouldn't meet my eyes. "Louisa, it's only a _practice_ thing."

I knew getting information from Martin was difficult, but about medical matters it was all no-go. "See you soon."

He ducked his head. "Goodbye."

I got the Vicar a small bouquet of spring flowers, a fishing mag, and the newspaper. Carrying them to the lift I felt lighter somehow, no matter the stone and three-quarters* I'd gained. The baby was fine, and whatever happened out in the hall between Martin and Edith I'd have to wait for him to tell me – if he did.

The lift door snicked open and two clerks went in ahead of me. I vaguely recalled seeing them behind the counter at the clinic. I followed them inside, then punched the button for 4 and turned to face the door.

As soon as the doors closed the younger one started gossiping to the other one. "The witch of the west got hers today."

"Oh?" the other said. "That ginger deserved it I'm sure."

Suddenly my ears perked up.

"Oh God yes. Seems an ultrasound was out of sorts. Audrey heard all of it! She was in the hall when a patient's Ess Oh**, some toff doctor or something like that, lit right into our dear Doc Edith! All about being sloppy _and_ slipshod. Ripped her good apparently. Then he pushed a thick envelope into her hands – some paper or other she's been working on – and he told her it's basically crap!"

"Tall guy? Dark suit?" asked her friend. "I saw him. Big ears, though. The woman with him seemed a little old to be having a baby, didn't she?"

I bit my tongue at the personal dig but listened carefully. I wanted to turn and question them but could only face the shiny steel of the doors and eavesdrop.

"Whatever," the first one, went on, "Edith tried to make up with him, apparently. All about how they were together back in school days and she was certain they could be that way once more."

"God," the second muttered. "With Edith? Ugh! Makes my skin crawl. And his preggers lady was just inside the exam room?"

"Yeah."

"God! That woman can be mental can't she?"

"It gets better," the first one giggled.

"Oh?"

"Oh my _yes_."

It took all my energy not to whirl on them with a million questions, but I heard more; a luscious lot.

From the corner of my eye I saw the second nudge her friend. "Well, come on, spill it."

"Well, our _lovely_ Edith sidled up to the fellow and said, 'Oh but Ellingham, I thought we'd be together?' Isn't that a scream? As if any real man would want our prickly boss."

The second clerk laughed. "Poor Edith; not that I have any pity for the witch. And what did her non-Romeo say next?"

The first one laughed. "The fellow told her 'Edith, maybe I don't want to be with _you_. I've made my choice and I want to be with Louisa.'"

"Ouch! Quite _juicy_ to hear our _lovely_ boss got crushed like that! She tore a strip off me last week, so glad she got hers."

The first clerk added, "And that's when Edith slapped the fellow."

Those whispered words put paid any qualms I had about Martin with _her_. I finally got the answers I needed. "Right," I said aloud, "Sorted."

The lift stopped. ' _Floor four,_ ' the mechanical voice announced as the doors began to open.

I turned around to face the girls. "Thank you."

Both their faces went white as they really saw me. "For? Uhm, we were only…"

"For telling me _just_ what I needed to hear," I said. "Name's _Louisa_ by the way." I left them standing behind me open-mouthed as I strode away.

 **Author's notes:**

 *** A stone and three-quarters – A stone is 14 lbs weight, so 1.75 stone is 24.5 lbs.**

 **** Ess Oh – S.O. – Significant other**


	52. Chapter 52

**Chapter 52 – Bedside and Manners**

"Ah, Louisa," the Vicar said brightly when I walked into his room. He was propped up in bed with about five pillows behind his back so at lest he could sit up, but the array of IV stands at bedside told otherwise as I could see there were three, no four, tubes plugged into his arms. His white wispy hair stuck out at all angles and his cheeks were stubbled with grey whiskers, but his blue eyes looked at me clearly.

"Vicar! Hello! How are you getting on?"

He shrugged and waved a shaky hand at the medical gear. "Wired for bloody sound. Feel like a bloody pincushion," he muttered.

I held out the flowers and magazines. "Maybe these will cheer you up."

He grinned. "Lovely, right. Ought to be vase about somewhere."

Grunting I squatted down to look under the bedside table. "Ah, here's one," I said as I slowly got myself erect.

"Miss Glasson, you… the uhm… the baby."

He was clearly about to comment on the amazing exploding woman, which I was becoming a gram at a time. "Yes, rather larger, I am."

"No, no, I was about to say don't put yourself out on my account."

"No problem. How could I not? I mean," I looked around the room which held four beds, three occupied. "In hospital, you must get bored. How are you getting on?" I got some water for the vase from a sink by the door and arranged the fresh flowers in it.

"Humph," he answered.

"What's that mean?"

"Just that. Lungs have cleared up," he said. "All that smoke and so on. But it seems Dr. Ellingham cracked one or two of my ribs." He winced as he moved his chest. "Sore."

"Right. I'm sure he didn't; mean to. But you did need CPR. I mean, you weren't breathing at all." I set the flowers on his bedside table and fluffed the flowers. "There."

He sighed. "He broke my hip and now a rib. I ought to keep him well away from me," he laughed, but then his face screwed up. " _Ooof_. Ought not to laugh. Ribs."

I wondered how to defend Martin and his life-saving actions? "So, what else have they been doing for you?"

"Medicines through these things," he waved at the tubing in his arms. "Physical therapy, respiratory therapy; all that. They said I had a small stroke." A wrinkled finger tapped his cranium. "If I did I can't tell it. Temporary, they say. Shock of the fire."

I tried to smile. "I think I heard about that."

"Likely caused by Ellingham jumping on my chest!"

I pulled his visitor's chair near to his bead and gratefully sat down; giving him the magazines I'd bought.

He ran his hands over the magazines I'd brought. "Good. New ones. I swear most of what they hand out here are _months_ old." His voice dropped. "And I'm quite certain one I saw the other day had the Queen's Coronation in it!*"

I fiddled with the buttons on my coat.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"You do know, or might have been told, that Martin, I mean Dr. Ellingham and a serving boy pulled you out of that flaming building, right?"

His eyes got a distant look. "Might have."

"And I know that you and Martin – are not on the best of terms."

"Hip and ribs," he muttered but then he looked at me sharply. "So I have to thank him for being alive, I suppose."

I cocked my head. "No, no, not saying that. Only… well… maybe…"

The door behind me swung open and Martin walked in. "Louisa? Ah, Vicar," he said.

The Vicar stared fiercely at him. "Ellingham."

I looked from one to the other. "Now, that we're all here…"

Martin nodded. "Yes. Right." He walked to the end of the bed and lifted a thick metal case and swung the cover open. "I see they are treating you for pneumonia."

The Vicar nodded. "You break my ribs and now you're going to be playing doctor as well?"

Martin sighed, dropped the cover closed and glared at him.

Men! So _boy-like_ even at the best of times. What I saw I in the schoolyard was no different; pushing, teasing, name calling. "Vicar, and Martin, can't you?"

To his credit Martin's tone changed from confrontational to informing. "Sorry about the ribs, but I had to administer CPR. For a person of your age, any age over thirty actually, rib fractures - most minor - are common after chest compressions."

The Vicar sighed. "I see."

Changing the subject, I asked Martin, "You've seen Chris?"

He looked at me. "I have."

"And everything's okay?"

Martin nodded. "Yes."

"Something amiss, Ellingham?" the Vicar asked. "Or aren't you happy in the metropolis of Portwenn?"

Martin slowly put the notes back into the rack and crossed to me. "No… yes. I…"

"It's fine Martin," I told him.

He nodded at me, and then turned to the Vicar. "While my time in Portwenn has been – at times – _less_ than idyllic, my job is there. I am your GP."

The Vicar laughed. "Well that's something."

"What? What do you mean Martin?" I blurted out.

Martin's hand stroked my cheek. "I told Chris I am staying in Portwenn… as the GP."

I saw the way he gulped as he said it. "I'm sorry Martin," I whispered to him. "I know you wanted to go up to London; do surgery once more."

"What's that?" the Vicar asked, cupping a veined hand to his ear.

Martin nodded at me and then faced the Vicar more fully. "Appears you're stuck with me."

The Vicar almost smiled. "Ellingham you did save my life I hear, so you do have _some_ uses," he wise-cracked.

I looked at Martin. "Ah. Well, that's good." After his confession the other night I was almost afraid for his sanity, along with his spirits, for he had sounded so forlorn.

He turned his head toward me. "And you're here, uhm there, in Portwenn. And you're going to have… our… baby there." He sighed. "I thought it might be… useful… if I stayed."

"Yes, Martin," I beamed at him. "That would be useful. Very."

 **Author's Notes:**

 *** Queen Elizabeth II was crowned in 1953.**


	53. Chapter 53

**Chapter 53 – Invisible**

Useful; a nice word, but one which placed emphasis on the mere handiness of the man and not on other things. I had to bite my lip. I had needed a job, and I was pregnant, and I did miss Martin. So I had come back to the village and after too many ups-and-downs, had moved in with Martin. Being with Martin was handy. He cleaned house scrupulously, fixed me hearty meals, watched over my health like a hawk, and was a steadfast provider of various goods for our baby to be. But those weren't the real reasons I'd come home. So was missing Martin _the_ prime reason I returned to Portwenn?

The Vicar smiled at us.

"What?" Martin spat at him.

The Vicar bobbed his grey head. "As I told you before _if_ I may be of service, merely _ask_ me how and when."

Martin started to snort then stopped as he turned to catch my eye. "Uhm… I don't… know."

"Thank you, Vicar," I said. "Appreciate it. Perhaps I can come see you again? Any idea on when they might discharge you?"

The Vicar scowled. "Up to the medicos. Any day Ellingham?"

Martin shrugged. "You're not my patient. Up to the hospital consultant. But I might expect in two days, perhaps."

The Vicar took my hand when I stood. "Miss Glasson, thank you for coming and the flowers – and the mags as well." He nodded gravely at Martin. "Ellingham."

"Vicar," Martin muttered.

Martin held my hand as we walked away from the Vicar's room. "That was nice of you."

He raised his eyebrows. "Nice?"

"To say it aloud like that."

"What?"

I glanced at him and his puzzled brow. "That you'd be useful," I told him, in the most lighthearted tone possible.

"Uhm," his mouth snapped. "I _try_ to be, that is I hope that I am."

Our baby kicked me as a reminder. "Martin," I sighed, "You've been…"

"Louisa! Mart!" a voice yelled from behind us.

Martin grunted, "Parsons." He stopped walking, dropped my hand and turned to look behind us.

I turned as well and saw Chris Parsons trotting up to us. "Glad I caught you before you left."

"Hello Chris," I said. "Martin's told me he'll still be our GP. That's nice; very."

Martin and Chris looked at one another silently.

"Come on you two. What's that look for?" I asked them.

Martin ducked his head. "Nothing. Uhm, Chris, we were just leaving. I'm certain that Louisa is tired; needs her rest."

Chris beamed at me. "I'm sure you are. How are you?" he asked me.

"Doing fine, Chris. How's Diana?" I asked, mentioning his wife. "And the kids?"

"Fine, fine. And how's this baby coming along?"

Martin stepped in. "She's just had a scan, and as I told you in your office, despite the lack of rational vigor of SOME of your staff…"

I could tell his blood pressure was going up so I touched his hand. "Mar – _tin_. It's sorted." I addressed Chris next. "The baby is fine, apparently. And _bigger_ obviously. The scan gave me a turn for a few minutes though. But thank God Martin was with me." I hugged his arm briefly in gratitude.

The baby aimed a kick right at my bladder. "If you two boys want to hash out medical stuff any further then excuse me while I find a loo."

Chris pointed down the way. "Round the corner."

I found the loo easily and when emerging from the washroom, could hear Martin and Chris, for they were standing just around the corner.

Chris was saying, "I could see that."

"What do you really want?" Martin asked him gruffly.

"Well… I…"

"What?"

Chris laughed. "Mart, you don't have to be this way with me."

He ducked. "Why does that even brook comment?"

" _You_ know."

I head Martin sigh. "Chris, look, I'm fine and she's fine…"

"I saw you holding her hand."

Martin sighed. "She's the mother of my child for God's sake! What is it with you people?"

"And as you told me in my office not twenty minutes past that you are certain how you feel. So…"

"There is no need to say more. Quit hashing it over!"

"Calm down, Mart. God! And no I'm not hashing anything over. But good Lord telling her you're staying as GP because you've finally laid to rest any hopes of going back to surgery are just one thing."

Martin whispered something I didn't catch.

"As for the other…"

"Drop it Chris!"

"Mart, I'm probably the oldest friend you have and I do – uhm, shall we say _value_ – what you confided in me."

"A friend yes; one amongst few, I fear," Martin grunted.

Chris sighed. "I won't say a thing to Louisa, nor will I tell my wife."

Martin shuffled his feet. "Good. Right."

"But with all this business behind you? You must see…"

"What I _can_ see Chris is that _you_ are butting in!"

"Okay, okay. I'll let it go. My you are a grumpy bugger. But you must see you _can't_ go on this way."

Clearly this wasn't anything I was supposed to hear. I tiptoed backwards a few steps, silently pushed open the loo door, then pulled it shut so it made a noise. Then making sure my shoes made noise I left the short corridor and went around the corner into the main hall way.

Martin had his arms crossed and Chris was inspecting his watch. If I hadn't heard what I heard (not that I understood what it was about) I would assume Martin had just insulted his boss.

Martin's face softened when he saw me. "Ready?"

"Right," I told him. "Chris, give my best to Diana and the kids."

He nodded. "I will… and Louisa?"

Martin's head whipped towards Chris in a scowl.

"Yes?" I answered brightly.

Chris blanched. "Just, uhm, well I'll be thinking – hoping – things work out; the baby."

"Thank you." I squared my shoulders. "Ready Martin?"

Martin nodded as we left the floor and we didn't say anything to one another until we left the building.

Outside on the sidewalk there was a woman who was striking. She was wearing a black power suit, tan blouse, and four-inch spike beige heels, practically standing on her toes, with long and thick burgundy hair running all the way past her slim waist in luscious waves. In her elegant shoes she was about my height, but in weight she could not have gone over eight stone; perfect in every proportion for her slim build.

The woman turned her head to toss her scrumptious hair and I saw her gray eyes, and a flawless complexion; eyes and lips made-up perfectly. From the way she stood there, lazily rolling a baby buggy back and forth, she was the very image of beautiful and modern motherhood. From the tips of her finely manicured nails and sparkling rings, to her head she was gorgeous.

I was quite envious of her, considering my rotund self, but I wasn't sorry to be pregnant, or to be fat, just grateful that our baby was healthy.

I looked at the pretty lady again and saw one thing I was not happy to see, she was smoking. She could have been a fashion model, and perhaps had done in the day, but the thought of not just inhaling cig smoke but blowing it into the face of child? Ugh. I watched as a cloud of smoke billow out of her mouth and stream right over her child, who coughed.

Martin was looking down at the concrete steps, with one hand on my elbow and the other around my waist. "Steady Louisa, the steps are an uneven pitch. Can't have you fall. Whoever poured these steps ought to be found and made to replace them! Entirely unsafe!" Clearly he had not seen the stunning woman ahead of us.

The boy baby in the buggy looked to be about a two-years-old, with a mop of hair that matched his mum's. Would our child favor me or Martin? I'm dark but he is fair. Well time would tell.

We stepped onto the flat pavement and I felt Martin relax, but then he glanced up at the fashion model.

She looked up and gave me a little grin, but when she saw Martin, her face split into a huge smile, those gray eyes sparkling at him sending plenty of come-hither messages as she tossed her hair and cocked her head.

Ah, I thought, she likes tall men – in suits – even those with large ears.

Martin looked up, glanced at me and cleared his throat. "The car is just over there. Won't be a minute." He marched forward towards the fashion model, leaving me behind.

Feeling like a sack of spuds I watched as martin marched forward. The lady flicked her cig onto the grass and watched as he approached.

Whatever she thought was going to happen, didn't.

"Smoking?" Martin exploded at her. "This child is your child? Whether it is or not, even if you are an aunt or some sort of a child-minder, you have NO right to expel noxious and dangerous fumes into his face!"

"Well, I _am_ outside and the wind…" she waved a pretty hand. "Blows it away. And he is my son."

"NO. Listen woman! _You_ are _injuring_ this child! I am a doctor! I have a duty of care to those who are my patients as well as when I see danger being visited upon the weak and helpless!"

"Well!" she spat back. "I never!" She turned to go on her high-shoes.

"And you actually bought those shoes! Are you mad? Your ankles and toes, your entire foot actually, as well as knees and hips, and your spine, will be _maimed_ and twisted by those _ridiculous_ things! Have some sense woman! Wear _practical_ shoes!"

That's when she flipped him a very rude gesture.

"AND PICK THAT UP!" he practically screamed, pointing to the smoldering cigarette lying in the grass a few feet away.

Despite her defiant body language, his tone of voice made her daintily step into the grass and pick up the litter. She trudged back to the pavement, threw it at his feet and stomped it out with one delicately applied toe.

"There! Tosser!" she sneered, then sashayed away, her slim bum rocking to and fro.

Martin shook his head, bent down to pick up the crushed fag, and with distaste took it between finger and thumb. "God," he muttered as he deposited it into a handy bin. I watched as he turned, plucked his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands. "Some people," he murmured as he walked up to me.

"Was that necessary?" I asked.

"That woman was endangering her child – her baby."

I sighed. Martin didn't see the beauty that had been displayed in front of him. "You didn't actually see her."

"What? Of course I did!" He pointed at her retreating back. "Likely lighting up _another_ fuming fag as we speak! Well on her way to emphysema in a few years no doubt! God knows what damage she's already done to her child. Unable to defend himself."

I shook my head. "No, Martin, you didn't. Not really." That was my Martin. He didn't see the delicious young woman in the expensive clothes. He only saw a health issue. "Hard to save the world, isn't it?"

He looked at me. "Ahm, I likely embarrassed you."

I gazed up at him. Martin Ellingham - protector of the weak. For him, some things would always be invisible, such as the smoke from a burning cigarette blotting out the sexy woman holding it. I nodded. "Little bit, maybe." He was only doing what he thought was proper.

He shook his head. 'Sorry, Louisa…. after… the uhm… your… ultrasound…" he sighed. "Now that it's almost here."

"Yes it was amazing to see our baby. Gratifying that it's fine - him or her. We ought to think about names."

Martin froze.

"What? Something wrong? You saw something?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. Let's go to the car."

"Mar-tin!" I stamped my foot. "If you know something then _tell_ me!"

He closed his eyes for a moment. "Ah, I saw something."

"Oh my God. Something's wrong?"

He shook his head. " _No_. But, I am not sure if you would want to know the gender of the baby."

"Not actually, no. But _now_ you've got me worried."

"Louisa, firstly _nothing_ is wrong. But I could tell…"

"What?"

He squinted down at me. "On an ultrasound certain… _features_ … of the developing foetus are _readily_ apparent on an ultrasound; such as head circumference, lengths of arms and legs, number of fingers and toes, details of the spine, chamber so the heart and so on."

I looked at him strangely. "Martin, just spit it out! What did you see?"

He sighed. "Are you sure you want to know? I can just as easily not say. First you say one thing but mean another."

"Mar-TIN _Ellingham_! If you don't tell me right now I will…."

"You'll what?"

"Ooooooo!" I held my head. "You are _insufferable_! Maddening!"

He squared his shoulders. "Fine. Louisa, I got a good look between the baby's legs, and our baby is a boy."

"What?"

"A boy, Louisa. It's a boy. We're going to have a son."

I threw my arms around him and kissed him full on the lips, so happy that what had been invisible had become discernible.


	54. Chapter 54

**Chapter 54 – Road ahead**

I held Martin's hand on our way over to his car. He looked nervously at me when he held the open door as I slid into the seat. "Problem?" I asked.

He sighed. "I hope you're not planning on clutching my hand all the way back to Portwenn."

I chuckled. "We'll see, won't we?"

He dipped his head to the side as he helped me scoot further into the car. "Make sure your seat belt is well placed below your, uhm, tummy," he cautioned. "Across the pelvic bones."

" _Yes_ , Martin," I replied testily.

"Louisa, I am only…"

"Yes, I _know_ , Martin, but I am perfectly capable of putting on a seatbelt." I looked up at his surprised face. "I am not a child, nor am I impaired. Right? I am pregnant; not ill."

He winced. "I'm… only showing… my concern."

I smiled and touched his hand. "I and your son appreciate it; we do. But give me some credit."

He nodded. "Fine. Okay. Good." He closed the door, walked around the care, and got in behind the wheel. "I…"

Changing the subject I touched his elbow. "Oh Martin we're going to have a boy."

"Yes," he grunted.

"Isn't it exciting?"

"Babies are generally male or female except for rare…"

"Stop!" I commanded. "I do _not_ want to hear a soliloquy about genetic disorders."

He nodded. "Right. Sorry."

"I really hadn't planned on asking about the baby's sex, but," I shrugged, "now we know. Takes _some_ of the surprise out of it."

He buckled his seat belt and started the car, then released the brake and slowly backed from the parking spot. "Need anything while we are in town?"

I patted his elbow. "Got you, so no."

He glanced at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you know; you, me – stuff."

"What stuff?"

I sighed at my ever literal Martin. "Nothing Martin."

We rode most of the way back to the village in companionable silence, but for when we hit traffic. In Cornwall the word _traffic_ meant livestock on the road.

"God!" Martin expounded. "Must they move sheep in the middle of the day?" He blew the hooter at the sheep which blocked the road from side to side.

A farmer on our left lifted his battered hat to us, and then whistled, urging the animals to come faster. The road was narrow and he was moving a flock of a hundred or so sheep from one field to the other. Each field was enclosed with low walls of gray stone, so to me it was a very idyllic, very iconic of this part of my world. The blue sky above, green grass and gorse below, and the woolly backs of the sheep as they made their way across the road and through a gate.

The shepherd stood by an open gate, holding his staff, lightly touching the backs of animals that were timid at the opening in the wall. A black and white dog ran to-and-fro at his command, herding the animals forward and keeping them bunched together.

"That's what I need in the schoolyard sometimes," I murmured.

"What?" Martin replied.

"A border collie or maybe a Sheltie. To urge the students back into the building after recess."

He shook his head. "Children aren't animals. Well, I mean they are, but with a sense of reason. Mostly."

"Is that all we are Martin? Animals?"

The road was still blocked and Martin shook his head. "Come on!" he yelled out the window. "These sheep are a nuisance."

"Oh? You have wool jumpers and blankets and you do eat mutton, Martin."

"But they're blocking our path!"

I chuckled. "No rush is there? Just enjoy it. It's a beaut of a day."

He looked at me for a few seconds but then seemed to relax.

"What?" I asked.

"You – no, we're _not_ animals, that is, we are mammals. But we build, reason, think, and plan. None of those sheep ever read a book or wrote one."

I took his hand. "And remember."

He looked down where I was stroking his left hand, and then he slowly interlaced his fingers in mine. "Louisa, I do remember."

"What?"

"If that Lolly person," he waved his right hand, "the uhm, with the back injury."

I racked my brain. "You mean my friend Holly?"

"Holly. Right. The cellist. Okay. If she had not injured her back." He lifted my hand as if to say none of this would have happened.

"I'm not sorry, you know. Not the teeniest bit." The day she gotr hurt was the day we got engaged, and that night we slept together for the first time.

"What?"

I pulled his hand towards me and pressed it palm down against my blown-up belly where inside our unborn son was doing somersaults. "This. Him. You and me. I'm not sorry we're together and making a baby."

He pursed his lips. "Ah. You have said that once or twice."

"And you?" I asked.

He wrinkled his nose. "If it makes you happy."

Hm. "Does it make _you_ happy, Martin?"

He dipped his head to the side, in that way which he seemed to show doubt or uncertainty. "Louisa, it's _not_ a matter of happy; it just is."

I held his hand firmly against me. "He's right in here, Martin, doing jumps on my bladder. We just can't see him. A lot more than just _is_ , wouldn't you say?"

He looked from my face to my belly then back up to my eyes. "Yes. Louisa… I want to say… ought to say… actually…"

Ahead of us the sheep were finally clearing from the road. The collie ran another circuit, nipping at stragglers, until they were all through the gate. The farmer doffed his hat to us and waved us through with a big sweep of his arm but Martin was still staring at my face.

"The road ahead is clear Martin," I told him. "Move on."

His eyes whipped ahead then back to me. "Louisa…"

A loud horn behind us started to blare, so Martin had to drive forward.

He sighed, "Always something."

Another mile passed under our wheels. "I don't want Dr. Montgomery to be my doctor anymore," I said.

He nodded. "Right."

"I suppose you told Chris Parsons about the machine mix-up."

"I did."

"I imagine Chris was not pleased."

He nodded. "Correct."

"Something they will have to sort."

"Indeed."

"Take action."

He harrumphed. "The problem with people like Edith Montgomery is _they_ think they can swan along making a mess of things and get off scot free."

"But _you_ fixed it, Martin. You were there to catch her mistake."

He wrinkled his nose. "Just doing…" he stopped. "But what if I had not been there, Louisa? That woman managed to scare the dickens out of you as it was, plus God knows how many others."

"I suppose that is true."

"So no need for you to defend _her_. It's in your nature to want to take pity on people; to help them, but Edith, erh, Dr. Montgomery is a grown woman. She can stand up and take punishment for her lack of care." He shook his head.

That settled her hash then. "Martin, I… I was in the elevator back there and I heard some things. It was gossip, but it was about us, really." I bit my lip suspecting he'd explode.

"What's this?"

I told him about the two nattering nurses - giving a general overview of what I'd heard - omitting the juiciest bit at the end.

"Gossiping about us?" he practically screeched. "Good GOD!" Suddenly he jerked the wheel and the car swerved to the right then back into the proper lane.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Badger in the road." He nervously looked in the rear view mirror. " _Stupid_ animal."

I craned my head backwards and saw the creature successfully run from roadway to the grassy verge. "She's safe."

"How do you know it's a she?" he scoffed.

"I don't. But she made it across the road." It wasn't an argument but it nearly felt like one. "Well, anyway, one of the things I did hear was…"

"Nearly home," he blurted out and with swift movements of wheel and throttle steered the Lexus up Rosscarrock Hill to the surgery. Before I could say more, he put the brake on, threw open the door and sprang forth.

Luckily I was on the downhill side of the car side so could slide out without needing a stevedore. Martin rapidly was right there at my side to help me get steady on my feet.

"Careful Louisa, that stone is a bit loose," he pointed down.

He was practically holding me in his arms and it felt good.

He cleared his throat."Ah, I want to tell you something."

"Doc! Hey Doc!" a man's voice yelled at us.

"Oh God," he muttered. "What?" We turned to see Chippy Miller limping uphill.

Chippy smiled. "Doc! Louisa, sorry. Uhm, see, I got this thing with my ankle, or maybe my knee, or hip? I'm not sure. Was wondering if you could look at it?"

"No!" Martin yelled. "Surgery is closed. Have you fallen? Is this an emergency?"

"No, not actually," Chippy, "but if I'm disabled, then I need a letter for the Relief Board."

Martin looked him up and down. "I see you managed to _practically_ run _up here_ and _quite_ rapidly. I think you can wait. Now go away!"

"But Doc?" Chippy moaned. "It hurts."

Martin bristled. "No! Apply ice, take paracetamols and elevate the limb. Call for an appointment!" Assuming that Chippy would heed him, he turned back to me. "Louisa, as I was saying…" he started to whisper.

Chippy persisted. "But Doc!"

I intruded. "Chippy I'm sure Dr. Ellingham will be glad to see you, only make it tomorrow. Right?" I smiled at Chippy and he rewarded me with a grin.

"Okay. Thanks anyway." Chippy turned around and began to limp away while Martin sighed at the man. "I hate that."

"Oh, Chippy is alright," I answered.

We watched as Chippy stumbled away, none too steady on his pins.

Martin took my hand. "Louisa, I was going to say, uhm, tell you, that is - I will tell you…"

"Go on. What's this about?"

He pursed his lips and then took a big breath. "In hospital, out in the hallway, when Edith, uhm, took me out to have a chat, I gave her back her poorly written manuscript. I then informed her I would no longer be collaborating with her in any way."

"Collaborating? What's that mean?"

Martin seemed very nervous now. "Look Louisa, I know this, _our_ pregnancy, this baby boy, was not planned. I also know that I've been – _difficult_ – with you while living in the surgery. Now that I'm staying... in Portwenn..."

"Yes?"

He cleared his throat. "So… uhm, well the fact of the matter…"

"Right." I sighed guessing what he wanted. "You want me to move out. Me and the baby will make it too cramped. Right. Can do." I said the words but I didn't mean it, only guessing his drift, while my eyes got very wet.

"No!" he hissed. "Good God! No, please, just wait Louisa…"

"Yes?" I felt my blood pressure going up as well.

"Please Louisa, I want to be with… _you and only_ YOU. When I told Edith that I wanted to be with you and _not_ her, that's when she slapped me."

All my pent up anxieties flew off on the wind. "Oh Martin!" I kissed him deeply. "Oh I want you too! You and me and our son!"

He nearly smiled as he threw his arms around me and pressed his cheek against mine.


	55. Chapter 55

**Chapter 55 – Decision**

So Martin had finally declared that he wanted me above all others. That was fine for I wanted him as well and see that ginger-haired bitch disappearing was part of the deal. Now there was just one more thing…

We entered the house and with recent events it seemed more like _our_ house, rather than just a house. I excused myself, went up and used the loo, and returned to find Martin sitting at Pauline's desk, checking messages on the answerphone, while listening intently and making notes.

A scratchy voice screeched from the device under his hand. "Doc Martin? This is Mrs. Penrose? Member me? I been feelin' poorly, like and I got them boils back. Little blisters on my cheeks. You surely recall them."

Martin sighed.

"Problem?"

He held a hand up so I quieted.

The voice went on after a pause. "The bus is bollocks so I was wondering if you might see fit to get out ta farm?"

Martin pushed a button and the answerphone went silent. "Only four calls, which is surprising it is so few." He looked at the pad on which he took notes. "Lurky, a running nose, a shortage of insulin, and a Roseacea."

"Welcome to the metropolis of Portwenn," I smirked.

He nodded. "They will keep other than a renewal of insulin. I will call the chemist for, uhm, them." Martin was very circumspect about patient names.

"Right." He looked up at me. "As I said…"

"The usual." I smiled. "But you get challenging cases, from time to time."

"Yes." He stood, went to his medical files, and pulled open a drawer. "I'll just call Mrs. Tishell and get this taken care of."

I yawned.

"You must be tired. Perhaps you need a nap."

"That would be nice, but I did bring paperwork home from school."

He nodded. "All the same you mustn't tire yourself out. If you are to have the Head Teacher job; permanently, and we are a family unit then you will have to learn to portion out your energy, Louisa."

"Sure." I looked at his concerned face. "Guess we'll have to figure that out, right?"

He nodded again. "Anything else?"

I crossed my arms and tried to smile. "So I was wondering, Martin."

"Hmm?" He muttered as he wrote a note in the patient file he'd pulled out.

"What happened to the ring?"

"Ring?"

I ducked my head. "The ring you gave me… your grandmother's… I think you said."

He put the patient file away, and pushed the drawer closed. "Right. I suppose…" he popped his neck, "I might be able to put my hand on it." He nearly smiled. "Come with me."

I followed him up the stairs and into the (no _our_ ) bedroom. He went to the chest of drawers, opened the top left drawer, reached in, and directly pulled out a small box - the sort jewelry was kept in. He snapped the spring-lid open and turned the case so I could see it. There his grandmother's ring was nestled between padded clamps.

His eyes got brighter. "There. Here it is."

I waited for him to move, but he didn't, so I took the initiative. "Might I have it? Try it on?"

He ducked his head. "Yesss." He took the ring out of the box but held it uncertainly.

I nodded and took a deep breath feeling some trepidation, but I held out my left hand, fingers spread. "I think it will fit nicely on my fourth finger; custom calls it the ring finger."

His eyes went wide but his hand holding the ring didn't move. "Ah."

I looked up at his wary face. "A long time ago you asked me to marry, and I said I would, and then we were engaged, but time passed, and on our wedding day, I balked…"

"Louisa, I did as well."

"Right." I looked at the shining ring, three diamonds, with small pearl accents. "Well, anyway, we didn't marry and I left – up to London. But I… came back."

He nodded and I saw his Adam's apple move as he gulped. "Currently present yes," he said softly.

I took another deep breath while baby boy Ellingham squirmed deep in my belly. "And when I came back, as you see me – carryin' our child – you asked me to marry."

He slowed nodded, his eyes wide. "I did, yes."

"And I put you off," I said grimacing at the memory as I said it. "Pushin' you away."

He breathed deeply. "Louisa, I would marry you, if that's what you wanted at that time. I still will marry you, if that is what you wish."

Here it was; the moment I had been putting off; yet also wanted from nearly the time my pregnancy test showed I was expecting Martin's baby.

I opened my mouth, trying to think of just the right word. "Well, here's the thing. I have the feeling there _might_ be something _you_ want to tell me? Something you might have shared with Chris Parsons?" I shrugged. "I apologize Martin, but you and he were talking at hospital when I came out of the loo. Chris was saying that you should tell me something. Now," I squared my shoulders, "what is it?"

He looked at the floor for a few seconds, and God knew what thoughts were racing through that large head of his.

I had to hold my breath for too long, but he grunted. "Louisa, we can go on like this – you living here, but I think it will be better for all concerned if we…" he stopped and paused for breath.

I bit my lip. "All who?"

"You and our baby, when it comes in a few weeks."

"Soon, yes. So what _did_ you tell Chris?"

He closed his eyes but then blurted out. "Louisa I do want us to be together, but before, when you were gone, I was prepared, trying to be, to leave Portwenn. For you were gone, the whole town smells of fish, the seagulls relieve themselves on you at every opportunity, the villagers were just as awful as ever and most of the time I actually can't understand most of what they say; such thick accents!"

"Go on."

He sighed. "I was ready to be gone – have this place see the back of me – but then you were here – you came back!" Now he looked even more wary and unsure of himself.

"Yep. And pregnant."

"Yes, I saw that, right away, but I _ought_ to have come up to London to see you, or called you, but I was," he shook his head, "uhm, afraid to."

I laughed. "You? Martin Ellingham afraid? Oh, Martin you're the bravest man I know."

He shook his head. "But if I _had_ come up to town, and found you, and asked, asked if we might try once more? What would you have said?"

"You thought about this."

He slowly nodded. "That was some days, when I was most wretched. But then I'd think that you made your choice; that leaving was the right thing for you and me. Perhaps it _was_ the right thing? And that scared me more than anything else. If there was the slightest shred of a chance that I'd contact you and you'd tell me to bugger off?" He trembled. "No, I couldn't take that chance."

Oh my God. "So you stayed here all winter, cold and miserable, alone, and… oh, Martin."

I looked up at his face and saw he at his most defenseless. He wanted me and was afraid to say so and all this time I'd been holding him back, pushing him away, afraid to take just one step. Oh we shared his bed and all that implied and said the words 'I love you' but it was hollow, almost a shell of a relationship, because I wasn't ready to commit.

It wasn't _him_ holding back – it was me – _me_ all this time. I was the one who was afraid as well. I had watched mum and dad fight and fight, so ill-suited those two. And what did it get them? Separation, abandonment, and me praying at age eleven for months and months for mum to come home, but she never did. That made me the person I was today; my strengths and weaknesses all mixed together.

I looked very hard at Martin and knew that he was the man I wanted. For he was only one I ever could really count on, and he never ever quite gave up on me, although I gave him plenty of reasons to do so. I had to make my decision be known. Tell him Lousia! Tell him right now!

In a swift movement I grabbed the ring from him and pushed it onto the fourth finger of my left hand. It was a bit snug over my swollen knuckles, but it slid home with some urging. "Still fits."

He looked surprised, so I told him, "I'd be glad if you'd marry me Martin. Sooner the better." I stared up at his questioning face. "I love you Martin Ellingham. Be my husband?"

If I thought we kissed deeply outside the hospital, I was wrong, far wrong.

What came next took my breath away as he and I pressed ourselves together as close as a protuberant thirty-three week pregnancy could let a man and a woman get.


	56. Chapter 56

**Chapter 56 – A visitor**

Martin was running water into the kettle when I went downstairs. He gave me the barest of grins then slipped back into his usual bland countenance. "Tea?"

"Yes, decaf though."

"Of course." I stroked my ponytail. I'd put on a new outfit, and had brushed my hair.

He switched on power to the cooker, turned on a front burner, and then carefully put the kettle on. He glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes."

"Right." I took in his straight stature, broad back and shoulders, the way he moved in precise and controlled movements, all of which was 180 degrees away from his manner an hour ago, when we made the most tender love. Looking at him I got another tingle from thememory. Martin – a man of many talents! Of course he'd put his suit back on, along with a fresh white shirt and a striped tie.

He touched the kettle handle, adjusting the kettle position ever so slightly. "Are you alright?" he asked timidly.

That was the hand which had stroked my neck tenderly as we snuggled together afterwards. I smiled at him. "I'm fine." I _was_ fine; the finest I'd been for months. Chuffed to bits, I wanted to say, but it would embarrass him to hear me say it.

He ducked his head and said softly, "Louisa, I apologize."

"Whatever for?"

He looked down. "If I… imposed on you… in any way… when we, the…" he waved a hand about. "You _are_ thirty-three weeks pregnant. I'd not want to hurt…"

"No, no, it was fine," I told him as I crossed the room and took the wayward hand in mine. "And you didn't force me to do anything I didn't want to. It was good, better than good actually." I kissed his cheek and then he stroked my hair.

I slipped under his arm and hugged his strong body to mine. He was rubbish when he had tried to take down bodmin Jonathan* but he was sturdy enough for all other practical matters. Sturdy - that was such a good word meaning stiff, strong, durable, full-bodied, robust; able to take a hammering.

There was always gossip about the village about our big and tall Doc and 'oh, how he must be a rather studly sort.' I would suppress any reaction when those words pointedly came my way, but it was true – every inch of it – not that I _actually_ measured it.

I had to shake myself as happy endorphins still bubbled in my head, for my hormones were all cock-a-hoop** from recent events. Plus as the baby books said at this stage I was rather interested in getting into his trousers. Just looking at Martin gave me a happy buzz. I smiled up at him then nuzzled his neck above his collar.

Martin turned and kissed my forehead.

We were all good – all so very good.

He started to say , "Louisa, I love…," just as the back door sprang open and mum clomped in smoking a cigarette and carrying a case.

Seeing my mother I immediately went on the defensive. "What are you doing here?"

She'd dyed her hair red since last I saw her (ten years ago). She had a huge smile on her sun-freckled face, blue eyes shining. She laughed, "I knocked at the front door – no answer. Here I am! Oh my God, Lou-lou, look at you! Big as a house!" she hooted. Dropping a bag on the floor, she transferred a burning cigarette from lips to hand and held out her arms. "Give us a kiss."

"What _are_ you doing here?" I repeated more coldly.

"Why, you wrote me a letter, dear heart!" She came towards me to hold me briefly. "If you didn't want me to come then why did you write?"

"I wrote because I thought you ought to know I was having a baby," I told her crossly.

She ran her hands over my firm belly. "And so you are! Oh you poor thing." She glared up at Martin and said accusingly, "You're the father, I suppose?"

Martin's eyes were practically jumping from his head. He slightly moved back from mum and me, and then cleared his throat. "Put out that cigarette!" he bellowed.

Mum recoiled, looked at the smoldering fag in her left hand, and shook her head at him. "Just lit it too. Oh well." She pulled the back door open and tossed the burning thing outside, then pointedly pushed the door closed so it slammed. " _There_ ," she crossed her arms. "Happy?"

Martin sneered, wrinkling his nose. "Now it smells of tobacco smoke in here." He waved his hand back and forth then opened the window fanning the air rapidly. "I don't want you smoking in our house," he directed.

She answered sarcastically, "Okay. Your house; your rules."

Martin looked at me quizzically.

I took a deep breath. "Right. Martin this is my mum, Eleanor. Mum, this is Martin Ellingham, my, uhm, my fiancé."

She nodded at him gravely. "And the new Doc I hear."

His head made the barest of nods. "Yes."

I felt my head begin to pound. "Just how long, mum, are planning on staying?"

She laughed. "Why as long as you need me, Lou-lou – 'til the little one comes at least. Boy or girl?"

"It's a boy," Martin answered her.

Mum beamed. "Well that's fine, just fine! Good news, right?"

I sighed. "Yes, it is."

Mum smiled. "You could a' knocked me down with a feather when I got your note." She peered around the kitchen. "The taxi man said you moved up here from the pub some time back."

"Yes," Martin said cautiously. "Louisa and I decided it would be better if she moved in with me, rather than living in a pub."

She stared at him. "And you're the father."

"Of course I am!" he told her.

"Mum, Martin and I are," I grinned at him, "back together."

She pursed her lips. "But you didn't marry my girl before time, did ya?"

I gave Martin the briefest of nods to warm him not to say more. "No," I sighed. "That was then. This is now."

Mum nodded at me, biting her lip, a habit I got from her. "Sure, Lou-lou. It's fine by me if it's fine by you. Soooo… where can I go freshen up?"

"The loo is down the hall," Martin pointed.

Mum walked out of the kitchen and into the downstairs loo, so when the door closed after her I pulled Martin aside and whispered to him, "I had no idea she'd show up."

"But you wrote to her. If you didn't want her to come then why write?" he asked softly.

"Yes! _Of cours_ e I wrote to mum! I said I was back in the village and that I was going to have a baby."

Martin watched me closely. "You aren't happy about her being here."

He got it in one. I rubbed my aching head. "Not really, no."

"Is she staying in our house?"

I crossed my arms. "I'll call the Crab and Lobster; get her a room."

Martin sighed. "I gather things between you two are…?"

"Difficult," I sighed.

"And she left when you were eleven."

"That was a bad time," I told him.

"But she's here now."

I sighed.

"And you're not looking forward to dealing with her," he observed.

"No."

Martin whispered, "Well, she is your mother." He cleared his throat and said oddly, "And you only get _one_."

I bit down hard on my lip as I held his hand. "There is that." We only get one, as he said, and Eleanor was mine. I heard water run in the loo and then the door opened.

"I can't say I like the soap in there," Mum complained as she got back to the kitchen. "Now, where can I put my things? You making tea? Grand. But I'd prefer coffee. Are there biscuits as well?"

Yep, just the same as always, I thought, for mum hadn't changed one bit.

 **Author's notes:**

 *** Jonathan – Terry Glasson's barmy accomplice from "On the Edge."**

 **** Cock-a-hoop – Extremely pleased about a recent accomplishment or victory.**


	57. Chapter 57

**Chapter 57 – Reasons**

We were obliged to have supper with mum, which I didn't want. I wanted to snuggle with Martin on the sofa, rather than stare at Eleanor across the table and try to make idle chit-cha with a virtual stranger.

But we had tea with biscuits, well she did. I wanted to eat a chocolate digestive, but feeling the eyes of Martin on me I refrained. Mum was trying to be chatty but there was an undercurrent of something that wasn't right. She excused herself to the loo once more than returned.

" _Am_ I staying?" she asked slightly abashed.

Martin coughed into his hand.

I answered her, "The house is not - that is the spare room – it is very small."

Martin stepped in. "At present a room at the pub may be more to your liking. A better bed for your back, I suggest."

"Oh, right," she responded. "What say I take my case and go there? Crab and Lobster?"

Martin nodded assent.

Feeling sorry for her, I added. "But come back at 6:15 for supper?"

She brightened. "Fine, fine. I'll be off."

Martin walked to the door carrying her case. "I can walk you," he said to her.

"Oh Martin, _pish_. I know this village like the back of my hand! No need."

Martin looked at me. "No, I'll… walk you down; escort you."

"Well, aren't you the gentleman," she chuckled. "No, it's fine. See you at supper."

I waved to her and she smiled a little. "My little girl," she said to me. "Good to see you Lou-lou."

She went out the door and as it closed behind her I felt I could take a breath.

Martin asked, "What was that about?"

"Oh, just mum."

He shook his head. "No."

"She's not like your mum, Martin."

"I can see that."

I held out my hands. "Let's not fight."

"I'm _not_ fighting."

"Well what?"

"That's what I was asking."

I rolled my shoulders. "Mum left when I was eleven, and the last I saw her was ten years ago." I sighed. "I'd been back from Uni teaching for a few years, when she just showed up. Took a couple days to find out she and Javier had a fight – a huge one. He had an affair."

"Javier?"

"Her friend – _boyfriend_. The one she dumped dad for when I was eleven. He was a fisherman off a trawler. "They had to put into Padstow with engine trouble. Mum met him…" I stopped. "I knew she and dad were rubbish. The whole village knew. Terry was crap sometimes but she was worse. At least dad stayed and did the best he could, which wasn't much sometimes."

Martin stood stiffly. "Ah."

"Yes, ah." A lot of water under that bridge in those two words.

"So what do you intend to do about her?"

I sighed. "Take my shoes off and have a lie down." I crossed the room to hug him, which he returned. It felt very good to be held by his strong arms. "I'm sorry she's come."

"It's fine."

I looked up into his greenish eyes. "As you said, we only get one; mother that is." I had a nice nap on our bed, then around about six went down to see that Martin had cleaned the kitchen and was preparing dinner.

"Ah, you're up," he said. "Dinner."

I yawned. "A nap felt good." Not as good as being with him that afternoon.

Martin sensed my unease so he suggested that I help him prepare the evening meal. "Broiled cod, corn, and a salad," he announced.

"Sounds lovely. Can I help?"

"Salad."

I started making it.

Then there was a tap at the door and mum peered in. "Hope I'm not early."

I nodded my hands full with a knife and tomatoes. "Hi."

"Hi, Lou-lou," she said softly.

Martin looked at me and saw me wince. "Louisa and I often cook together," he told her.

She went out to the front room. "Well, the old woman will just set down and rest her weary bones."

Martin cleaned the fish, filleted it, drenched it with butter and lemon, and then put it on a flat pan for the broil.

I was tearing up lettuce with a fury that would make the Norsemen proud. Martin reached over, took my hand and gently squeezed. I gave him a smile. "Thank you," I whispered to him.

He tossed his head in the direction of mum.

"Right," I sighed. Wiping my hands on a towel I went out to see her.

Mum sat on the sofa starring at the floor, feet together with hands braced on her knees. It was such a rigid pose it gave me pause. She'd come all this way, for me? Had she? "Mum?"

She shook herself. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"You okay?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Would you like something to drink? Wine?"

"A red would be good. Small one."

I got out the bottle and poured her some. "Rather old. Martin uses it for cooking. He doesn't drink."

She sipped from the glass. "No it's still good."

The brittle way her eyes seemed made me hurt. I knew this look. I'd seen it many a time in Eleanor Glasson. I sat down next to her and tried to calm myself. "Mum, level with me."

"What about?"

"You and me. I wrote and you came, and I do appreciate it."

"But you're wonderin' why yer mum would come all this way after _this_ letter, and not after all the others you wrote? Plenty of other letters you sent me and I never come before." She peered through the glass of wine. "Funny."

"What's funny?"

"When you look through a glass it makes things seem unreal. Wavy like."

The dreamy way she said it made me look hard at her. Tears were running down her cheeks. I handed her a tissue and she wiped her damp face. She nodded thanks.

"So mum, what's unreal?" I inquired.

She sighed.

Not wanting to I asked, "How's Javier?

She made a sad smile. "Here's the thing, Lou-lou. He's gone. November – cancer."

"Oh, mum, I am sorry."

She sniffled. "Wasn't anything they could do, they said. They said if they found it sooner, maybe. But that's what unreal. Him gone, you having a baby; engaged." She looked around the room and then focused on Martin's clock on the mantle. "I wish I could turn back the clock."

I took her cold and suddenly old feeling hand. "I am sorry."

Her blue eyes bored into me. "But if I had a time machine you can bet I'd go back and fix other things; things I messed up with you Lou-lou."

 **Author's note:**

 **I am dedicating this story to fanfic reader 'statesidefan' - Linda C - who we lost on Monday March 21. A great friend and an uber-fan of Doc Martin. Rest well Linda. We miss you.  
**


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter 58 – Healthy lifestyle**

"You mean that?" I asked, my voice quaking. But it's what people say, of course. I'd do things different if I knew what I knew now.

Her blue eyes bored into me. "I would and you know there's plenty of things I bollixed up for you sweetheart."

Did she mean it? Oh there was a very long list of things I'd never be able to forgive; her and dad both. Doubt there's enough paper in the village to make up a list like that. "I am…" I had to gasp for air, just as my baby boy rolled over, "very sorry, about Javier."

Mum sighed deeply. "Well it was fun while it lasted." She looked towards the kitchen. "But here I am takin' you away from your man and his cookin'."

Martin cleared his throat. "Your friend?"

"Me and him, been _years_ together," mum answered. "But you know that. He was the one I left Lou-lou's dad for."

Martin grunted. "Ho, our families… Louisa and I…"

I caught his eye as I cranked my head around with a snap. Thankfully Martin closed his mouth. "Supper ought to be about ready," I said to her.

Martin held up his hand, fingers spread. "We don't actually discuss – our parents – you."

Mum stared at me.

"Five minutes," I added. "Until supper."

Mum rose and cracked her neck. "You know I'll just step out and have a smoke." She scooped up her handbag, drew out matches and a cigarette then headed for the door.

Martin coughed. "Cancer, you said."

Mum froze. "Yep. Nasty. Poor sod."

"What kind?"

"Mar-tin!" I practically screamed at him.

Mum's head dropped. "No it's alright, Lou-lou. Lung; it was lung."

That set Martin off into one of his medical states. "You _do_ know that smoking dramatically increases your risk of any number of lung diseases, from emphysema right up to cancer? And even if you _don't_ develop a _malignancy_ , then you can _significantly_ affect your quality of life! There's a very long list of difficulties in all other organ systems, especially heart disease and heart attack, plus increased risk of stroke! Furthermore…"

"Mar-tin! Enough!" I nearly shouted at him. "My mum's _not_ your patient!"

"Louisa," he retorted, "if your mother is _in_ this village, and odds are she may be living here for some little while – she hasn't said – then she _will_ become _one_ of my patients. I must tell her that a healthy lifestyle…" He waved a hand. "And as you know smoking is not a healthy lifestyle by any stretch of the imagination."

I looked at mum and she was staring down at the cig in her hand as if she had no idea how it got there.

I told her, "Sorry, Mum." Then I turned to face him. "Not a good time, Martin. Not at all," I hissed.

"When is a _good_ time?" he asked judgmentally.

We were interrupted by the slam of the front door for mum had walked out.

I gave him a murderous look. "Thank _kew,_ Mar-tin," I grumbled through gritted teeth. "Haven't seen mum for ten years and on the first night she's back, my fiancé drives her away!"

He looked sheepishly back at me. "Perhaps this was… not an ideal time."

"NO," I replied icily. "Certainly NOT." Heaving a big sigh I muttered, "Suppose I ought to go see if she's okay."

Thankfully Martin did not say anything else as I went to the door. "Martin, I know you mean well, but _really_. She's grieving. Giving her a medical lecture at a time like this was a low blow."

"The man died in November, Louisa, and it is now mid-May," he responded. "You told me once she was a free spirit. Well even free spirits can succumb to Time and Mother Nature."

I shook my head. What he was saying did make sense, but the _way_ he does things sometimes. "And she walked out on you - us. You figure that was not the smartest move?"

He sighed. "Right."

"Do you? Does that make you feel smarter? Hm? Superior?" I stood straighter. "Now you go on back to the kitchen and cook your fish," I snapped.

Mum was not out on the front terrace as I looked around. "Mum?" I called. "Mum?"

I looked downhill and saw her talking to Bert outside his restaurant.

He looked up and seeing me called out. "Louisa! Been talking to yer mum about my restaurant! I've got a marvelous idea!"

He waved me to come down, so I had to walk down the hill towards him and my mum.


	59. Chapter 59

**Chapter 59 – Jobs**

"Louisa, you are looking _lovelier_ every day," Bert gushed, half bowing to me.

My mum rolled her eyes at Bert's comment, and she cleared her throat. "Oh Bert preggers out to here is not attractive!" she chuckled.

"Well, nice of you to say so," I answered him, ignoring mum's words. "Can't say I feel very lovely at the moment."

"No, no, it';s true. Lovelier than a spring flower my lover. Got gas?" Bert asked. "My Mary she had it somethin' awful with Al when she was, well, about as fur alone as you Louisa. I used to cook her up a dish of broccoli…"

"Bert," Mum stopped him. "So you think I might be able to help you out?"

Bert smiled at her. "If what you said is true I could use a dab hand at the cooker." He turned to me. "Louisa, me and Eleanor were just comparing notes about eateries. She says she knows all about Spanish cuisine."

Mum blushed a little. "I didn't say that Bert Large. What I said was that I helped run a tapas bar in Spain."

Bert cocked his head. "Tapas – ooh, one of them fancy Mediterranean fishes? I heard they're mighty tasty."

"Oh Bert," she chuckled, "tapas means _starters_. They're all small portions, you see? So when you go in the bar for a drink, you might have a plate of prawns with roasted chilies, or maybe a sausage and cheese pie, or, well, you get the idea?"

Bert stood straighter. "Ah. Looks like I need to get up the curve."

Mum grinned and took his arm. "What say I come over tomorrow and tell you all about it?"

He nodded. "Ten in the morning then?"

Mum agreed.

Bert sighed. "Fine. Good. Better get back to my own restaurant, such as it is." He turned and lumbered down the steps and to his work.

Mum shook her head, her eyes dancing, after he had gone. "Bert and Al Large running a restaurant? Well they know about a lot about what comes outa one end, so why not the other?" she laughed heartily. "I can see that some things in Portwenn _have_ changed."

"Don't make fun, mum," I cautioned. "I hear that Bert is struggling – with his restaurant. Do you know about restaurants? Really?"

She nodded. "Figures. When he was a plumber the man wasn't very good at it, now was he?" She was holding an unlit cigarette in her hand, nervously flicking it about. "Yes, I do know about bars and cafes, Lou-lou."

I stared at the unlit fag in her hand. "Have you sucked one down already, or is that the one Martin barked at you about?"

She glanced at the thing, then opened her handbag and returned the cigarette to the package. "Sorry Lou-lou. Been meaning to cut down. Your Martin, he don't mince words does he? I thought he'd bite my head off. He do that to you often?"

"No, not really… look, let's go home and eat supper. Okay?"

"Sure, anything you say."

Back at the house, Martin opened the door for us. "I wasn't certain you were coming back," he said wistfully.

Mum smiled. "Sorry about my smoking, Martin. Maybe I better talk to you about them patch things."

He ducked his head. "Supper is ready."

The meal was good, although with my growing uterus crowding my other organs I couldn't eat much at a sitting, so I nibbled on salad, leaving half my fish uneaten. Martin scrutinized my plate then he sighed, no doubt thinking of ways to enhance my nutrition. Meanwhile my bladder seemed to be filling at an alarming rate. I excused myself to go the toilet, and when I came back mum was sitting there teary-eyed.

"What's happened? Mar-tin, what have you said to my mum?'

Eleanor sniffled. "It was my fault?"

Martin shook his head. "No. You said that… your… man… uhm, friend."

"Javier," mum said to him.

"Right. He was a smoker like you are but you say as a young man he worked as a diesel mechanic in a boatyard before he became a fisherman. His diagnosis, mesothelioma, is one of the nastier aspects of a probable exposure to asbestos."

Mum tore a towel from the kitchen roll and blew her nose on it. "That's what they said. The meso… meo…"

"Me - so - the - li - o - ma," Martin said slowly accenting the syllables. "It is s a lung cancer arising from exposure to the irritant nature of asbestos fibers. Shipyard workers who handled sheets of fibrous asbestos, or those who mined or processed the material, or steel mill workers… or insulation installers." He paused while mum wept silently. "Smoking does _not_ make the condition any better. It only hastens the course."

"He quit when he got the bad news," she told him. "But I still smoked a few a day."

"Second-hand smoke," Martin muttered, "did not help the man."

"So I didn't help him." Mum gulped. "Will I get it as well?"

"Did this Javier work in a shipyard after you knew him?" I asked.

"No, he, well he left the sea to be a barkeep with me." Her eyes bored into me. "Said he couldn't bear to be apart from me on them long fishing trips. Not like your dad who couldn't stand the sight of me most days." She winced as she said it. "Sorry Lou-lou. Dirty laundry."

So Javier was devoted to mum, unlike Terry. "It was all so long ago, mum." But mum was a terrible housewife and not that great a cook. I wondered how she got on down in Spain.

She nodded at me. "I'm not asking for yer forgiveness daughter. I should but I won't; I can't. Not that you'll forgive me anyway. I don't deserve it."

Those words hurt so my head whipped around so I didn't have to look at her. "I see."

She touched my hand and asked, "Do you? Do you have any idea how rubbish Terry and I were with each other? Oh I'm quite sure you and the whole village knew about us fighting like cats and dogs." She sighed. "No there were a million other little cuts of meanness along the way. He'd go out drinking so I'd burn his breakfast the next morning, and in return I'd spend some money on a new dress and he'd slap me. Or stay out all night."

"What?" I asked. "Dad hit you?"

"And I'd hit him right back," she said defensively. "That were a two-way street. Tit for tat."

Martin sat across from me trying to imitate the paint on the walls from the way he sat rigidly.

"I suppose I knew that…" I stood up shakily. "Sorry Martin; sorry you have to hear all this."

He cocked his head at Eleanor. "And you left when Louisa was eleven."

Mum nodded. "Only 'cause I had somewhere to go." Her eyes sharpened. "And to go with."

Heat flew to my face. "Then you left me behind, and dad," I snapped.

Martin shook his head. "The same age when my father no longer allowed me to come to Portwenn on holiday." He watched me with a vacant expression.

"So the same age," I muttered. "Both of us eleven." Did that explain some of our issues? We both had been kicked in the teeth by our crap parents. Even so Martin was very careful about anything he might say about his parents and clearly he had no interest in doing so. I just tried to put on a brave front but I knew the whole village still whispered behind my back, despite my success as a teacher.

He ducked his head then turned to mum. "Since his exposure to asbestos was likely when he repaired power plants on the boats, there may be a low probability that he carried the material home on his fishing gear. I can order some tests though to rule out your exposure." He cleared his throat. "He worked on deck for a time?"

Mum nodded. "Oh yeah, stinking of fish day and night. Later him and met found jobs in this little cafe. I cooked at first, and then worked the front of the house as time went on. He tended the bar. Oh we scrimped and saved until we could buy an interest in it. Later I was the full manger; did all the buyin' and firin'."

Martin stood. "I'll examine my schedule and see when I can book you for an exam. I can only do the preliminaries. A complete exam will require x-rays."

Mum hugged herself tightly. "Right. So if I'm stayin' awhile makes sense the village GP ought to check out the old pipes."

He ducked his head. "While you're here." He left the room.

I sighed, looking at my mother, having heard more about her last few years in a few minutes then I knew before. "Mum?"

She tensed as she looked at me. "Yes?"

"You came back, when I was fifteen. Why?"

She smiled. "I had a decent job then and thought I could help you out."

"But I didn't want to move to Spain. Plus dad and I were… a team, you know." It hurt to say that for the truth was I didn't want her around; there were too many pains that went too deep. I looked at the woman who gave birth to me and wondered what she really wanted.

"Right, Lou-lou," she said sadly but then she brightened. "But I'll see how things go with me and Bert. Hm? I don't want to be a bother."

I stared at the table for a few seconds. "The café in Spain, you still got an interest in that? When will you go back south?"

She started. "I'll go tomorrow if you want me to. Yes, I still have some money in the place. Not much, but I'm sort of on holiday, see?"

I stood up to clear the dishes. "You can stay as long as you like," I said.


	60. Chapter 60

**Chapter 60 - Muddled Up**

It was raining, again, and as the water poured off the roof mum was stuffing, no more throwing things, into her case.

"But why?" I asked.

"I must," she said, as she puffed on a fag.

"You just got here."

"I know, but Terry has been rubbish so I am off. Flyin the coop."

I looked up from my marking book in confusion. "I really need to get these papers taken care of, so can you please stop nattering away?"

Mum sucked on her cig and blew a huge smoke cloud. "Fine Lou-lou, you go right ahead. Just let me know when is a good time for Javier to come by."

"Wha?"

Mum stubbed out her fag in a coffee saucer and I winced at what Martin would say about her mess. "I'll have to talk to Bert as well."

"Bert Large?"

"No Albert bloody Churchill. Of course, Bert Large! Ought to talk to Martin as well."

I shook my head at all the confusing mental images. I was attempting to formulate how to reply when the door flew open and Edith Montgomery stomped in in an elegant tailored black suit, silk blouse, accesorized with spangly pumps.

Edith shook snow of her jacket, then perching her pert bum on the table corner, glared down at me as she crossed her arms. "Miss Glasson. Do you know the incidence of fetal loss in elderly primagravidas? Or that there is a close correlation between difficult delivery and the support, or lack of, by their partners? Or that Ellingham is really good in bed once you get him interested? So... is he really interested in you and your baby or is he merely going through the motions?"

"I really don't think you should talk to my little girl like that," mum said to her in a threatening tone.

I stood up, thinking I could move very easily for some reason. I heard a baby cry upstairs and although I wanted to go there and see what was wrong, my feet were rooted in place.

Edith gave me a wicked smile. "Why whatever is the matter, Miss Glasson? There a problem?"

"NO," I bristled. "I'll just... uhm, go and see to it."

"Oh, don't you worry Lou-lou," mum muttered. "It's fine. Never you mind."

"Oh? But it's crying, and it needs it's mum," I protested.

Eleanor laughed. "Oh a little cryin' won't hurt. Never did you any harm." She went back to packing her suitcase Which wasvery odd since she had her laundry piled on our kitchen counter.

I heard footsteps upstairs, and the murmur of voices, and then what was clearly the sound of two people coming down to the ground floor. I put my hand down to rub my belly, but it was flat, for I wasn't pregnant! Wha?

Martin came into the room just then carrying a baby, looking down at its little face, and he was followed by Auntie Joan, who was all smiles.

"What a perfect little baby," Joan crooned. "Oh he's just perfect! What a precious little thing he is!" She clasped her hands together and her face was beaming.

Martin held out the swaddled bundle. "Here, it wants its mother," he said, but he pushed it towards the arms of Edith, who took it from him proudly!

The witch looked down at the baby, saying, "Poor little thing. So sad he looks like his father. Sticky out ears and fleshy lips."

Hot tears began to spill down my face.

Martin grunted then stared at me with sad eyes. "Ahem, sorry Louisa. I imagine you must be... disappointed." His face got grim. "Why are you crying?"

Suddenly I was in bed, in the dark, my face wet with tears, with Martin laying next to me. My hands flew to my very large and pregnant belly. "Oh thank God!" I yelled. My hands gratefully ran across my huge bump as reality intruded.

"Louisa?" he exclaimed. "Are you alright?" He rose up on an elbow. "Good God! Are you I'll? Is it the baby?" He reached for my face to rest the back of his hand on my forehead for a few moments. "No." Then his fingers dug into my neck. "Your pulse is racing! What is going on?"

I sighed shakily. "An anxiety dream, Martin." I shook myself trying to loose the dreadful feeling of my nightmare. "But I'm okay now," I said as his arms held me close to his warm chest.


	61. Chapter 61

**Chapter 61 - Moving**

Martin gave me some very strange looks that morning as I prepared for school and at breakfast. Each time I'd just give him a half nod. "Just an odd dream was all," I kept telling him.

"Are you sure you are feeling alright?" he asked time and again. "If you are at all feeling unwell, say so. Take the day off. You can do that much, and while we're on the subject you should cut back your hours."

"Time off? No, no, the school is very busy and the Board is preparing to interview for the Head job. I must get ready for that. Plus the end of year fete."

He slowly lower his espresso and stared at me over it. "Oh."

"Yes, oh, I want the job, Martin. You know that. If I must say so I don't think anyone else can put the school back in shape after the mess that Mr. Strain made."

Martin ducked his head. "Still, you need rest. There have been many things… uhm, happening…" He paused and waved his hand about. "The…"

I reached over the table to touch his sleeve. "Our engagement. Right."

"Well, not the only thing. Your mother for instance." He set his cup down. "One sign of too much going on is unsettled rest; such as last night."

I sighed. "It was only a dream, Martin."

"Oh? _Just_?" he harrumphed. "Hearing you crying out meant it was _not_ just a dream, Louisa," he hissed. "You are burning the candle at both ends; wearing yourself out, for God's sake!"

That put my back up. "I am doing just fine _, thang-kew_ ," I answered sharply. I pushed my chair away from table and tried to stand. I sort of got stuck as the chair legs got hung up on the slate floor and my belly got wedged under the table. In a flash Martin sprang up, flew to my aid, and freed me.

"Steady," he said taking my arm to help me lever myself upright.

His act of chivalry took some of the heat away, but it put the lie to my being _perfectly_ fine; which I was – mostly. I took my arm back. "Better get going. School."

He nodded grimly. "Louisa, please… consider what I have said. Consider… when you might be able to slow down." He looked at his watch. "Think about what I said. Patients."

"And that's when I stomped off," I told my secretary as she stood next to my desk in my office.

Sally smiled. "He's only concerned for you and the baby."

"I know, I know! God! But sometimes…" I caught myself from a further outburst. "I know he means well."

"But he can bug the bloody hell out of you? My Sam was the same, rest his soul."

"One way to put it. Here I am cutting the man down and he's my fiancé once more." I held out the ring on my left hand.

Sally oohed and awed over it. "Well, that is something," Sally replied. "See? He does care for you, and a ring means _more_ than just caring, don't it?"

I sighed, wiped my face on a tissue and smiled up at her. "Oh yes it does, he does." I withdrew my hand and from hers and stared at the papers piled on my desk. "What a mess these attendance records are."

Sally Chadwick coughed. "Mr. Strain… let's just say he had his own methods."

That was one thing I liked about her, she didn't cut people down. "Might you be able to find one of the old forms? From when I?"

She grinned. "I have them on a memory stick. Give me a mo'."

It took most of the morning to shift Strain's hen scratchings over to a meaningful state; let alone useful. From what I could see I'd be tap-dancing around the missing days, whole gaps in the school records. I was shaking my head over the mess when Sally came back.

She stared at my desk covered with stacks of papers for I had been turning the paper forms into a spreadsheet on my laptop. She nodded grimly. "Sorry to interrupt but Joan Norton stopped by asking to see you."

"Sure. Send her in."

Joan Norton swept into the room and her ruddy face was glowing. "Oh Louisa, I've heard the good news! Have you set a date? How can I help? Would you like any help with flowers? Has the Vicar given you a good time? I'm on the church planning committee so I have some leverage with the man."

That was Joan; all hustle, bustle, and enthusiasm. I labored to my feet and she swept me into an awkward hug. "Thanks Joan. I was gonna call you soon, but work got in the way. Did Martin call you?"

She grimaced. "Yes he did, unlike last time. But I wanted to come and see you. How are you? How's the baby?" She patted my cheek. "Oh my dear, I am so happy for you. Martin saw the light?"

I bit my lip. "Or maybe I did."

"Ah." She nodded and pursed her lips. "Your mum is back in the village."

The gossips were hard at work. "How did you hear that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not what you think. I delivered veg to Bert. He told me. Says he needs help in the restaurant. I gather she knows something about that sort of thing."

"So she says."

Joan closed my office door. "More important I am so happy for you and Martin! Don't let any of this other stuff bother you."

"Other stuff?"

She sighed. "Small village. Wagging tongues; that sort of thing."

"About me? Mum? Martin?"

She shook her head and patted my belly. "You just keep that baby baking along, right? Ohh, it moved!"

He was stretching. "Yeah he does that."

"He? He?! Oh Louisa…"

Martin and I hadn't talked about keeping it secret. "Martin told you."

"He did yes." She hugged me once more and it reminded me of the many kindnesses of Joan and Helen Pratt and so many others. "Oh Louisa, I am so very happy for you! I'm over the moon!"

Sometimes I was less than happy about the way we got together; both first and second time. "I don't know - no, I can guess that Martin would like to keep the sex of our baby secret. Bad enough that Bert is running a pool on the delivery date and time. He even asked me if I wanted to place a bet. Says he'd figured mid-July, pretty much." The fact the people knew that I was pregnant when we didn't get married the first time rankled. I mean was there no privacy? But it stood to reason that I was. The baby rolled again and it made my back ache, so I rubbed the spot.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, just... pregnant… thirty-seven, but at least engaged."

That made Joanie laugh. "Bert always has an angle going of some sort. He mentioned that he'd like to throw a baby shower for you. I told him I'd help out."

"Really? A baby shower?"

Joan dropped her arms. "Least we can do. Now don't argue. Let the village help you Louisa! I'm sure Martin won't have a clue about these sorts of things."

"He'd bring shampoo."

Joan put her hand on the doorknob. "That he would. Now, about your mum…"

"What about my mum?"

Joan smiled. "You are just as smart, strong, and capable as you were when she left you. Stronger even. Don't let her bother you."

"Easy for you to say, Joan. She's my mother."

She nodded grimly. "Oh yes, but I had trouble with my mum. She hated it when I married Phil Norton. She told me I had disgraced the family." She got a faraway look. "But Phil and I were happy…" her lip trembled. "At first." She stood straighter. "If Eleanor gives you any trouble, let me know. I'll get her sorted. You'll be my niece by marriage and we're family! Now I've taken enough of your time. Ta'"

I whispered to her retreating back. "Joan we always _were_ family." I looked at the diamond and pearl ring on my left ring finger. "Just a little closer now." My back was still aching and I really had to have a wee.

 **Author's Note:**

 **Since Thursday May 12 reviews are being sent to the authors by email (if they have that set for their accounts) but are NOT being posted to the website. Lest you think your reviews are gone, they are not; merely stuck in limbo. I have contacted the admins and hopefully this recurring problem will get sorted!**

 **Update on reviews: As of May 18 morning, reviews are now getting to the fanfic website!**


	62. Chapter 62

**Chapter 62 – A Call**

I was tired and hungry, so when I made my way up the hill to Martin's house, all I wanted was a good rest followed by dinner. But Martin was rushing out of the house, medical bag in hand, when I reached for the door.

"Emergency!" he blurted out as he rushed past me.

"Oh?"

"Penhale… an incident."

"Right. Bye," I called.

Martin put his bag into the car then threw open the driver's door. He looked up at me sadly. "I hope not to be too long. You okay?"

I nodded. "Sure." I waved goodbye to him and he nodded in return, then climbed into the lexus and drove away in a rush.

I sighed as I went inside. Martin hadn't even closed the front door and I wondered what would have happened if I had not been there, but Pauline was still at her desk. She was just picking up her bag. "Pauline," I greeted her.

"Louiser. How's that baby doing?"

"Fine, fine. Bigger."

She tipped her head and inspected me from all angles. She cracked her gum. "Can see that."

Someday she might to get to experience the joys and pangs of impending parenthood. Meantime I needed a wee. "Might be your turn someday for _this_ ," I patted my big belly.

Pauline came over and put out a hand to touch my bump. "Gosh. You poor thing."

I sighed. "Doing okay."

She nodded and then her face broke into a huge smile. "And I hear you and the Doc are engaged… again?"

I held out my left hand. "Yes."

"Oooh, pretty. Same ring, though."

"For now, I suppose."

"Well when you want a new one… or something different… or…"

"Right. Sure. Whatever. Now if you don't mind, I need the loo."

She grinned. "Al keeps after me to marry him."

"Ah." Now I started to do the gotta-do-it dance.

"He goes on and on about it. I don't know. How do you know when you found the right one?"

"You'll know."

She giggled and nodded at the ring on my hand. "I figure you knew it a lot longer before the Doc knew it, or would admit it."

"Hard to say, Pauline." There had been something fascinating about Martin from the first even if we got off on the wrong foot. "Now… uhm." I waved my hand at the loo door. "Sorry."

She giggled once more. "Oh I know all about it. Most of my girlfriends having babies left and right the past few years."

I got away from her to complete my WC tasks. I'd heard the front door open and close when Pauline left and now the house was quiet. After I washed my hands and emerged from the lavatory reception was neat and tidy for Pauline had obviously straightened up the magazines patients loved to paw through. Martin hated the publications being on the tables; said they spread disease. He'd bin them after a week or so, but the postman always brought more, like it or not. Once publishers realized you were a doctor you got tons of the things; from fishing and football to flowers and babies.

I carried my briefcase to the kitchen table and pulled out the school papers I needed to study for upcoming interviews. I put the kettle on the hob to heat for tea when the surgery phone rang. I debated not answering for a few seconds, long enough to hear the call go to the answerphone, and a quavering female voice came out of the speaker. "Martin? Hello? Blast! I hate these things."

I scooted out to the phone and scooped it up. Odd that a patient would ask for Martin by name. It ought to be 'Doc?' in a pleading tone. "Hello, Portwenn Surgery!" I said into the mouth piece.

"Ah, _right_ ," the woman said, in a refined way. But there was something about the way she spoke that reminded me of Joan Norton. "I suppose he's away?" she asked.

"Doctor Ellingham is out on a call, yes, and surgery is closed," I told her.

"You're the receptionist, so perhaps you can give Martin, or rather Doctor Ellingham, a message."

"No, I'm not the receptionist, I'm…" I paused. What to say? What was I? "I can take down your message. Let me get a pen," I told her as I scrabbled for a pencil and a pad. "Got one."

"O-kaay. Good. Now tell my nephew that I've just heard the news."

Nephew? I was startled when hearing that. "Oh! You must be his Aunt _Ruth_. Hello. I'm Louisa Glasson."

"Ah, yes," she sniffed into my ear disapprovingly. "The school teacher. Joanie's told me about you. Goes on and on about you. I hear you are engaged once more."

The way she said it rankled. "Yes, we are… we… happened to be…" Oh what the hell. "Yes, yes we are – engaged."

"I see."

There was the phrase I disliked. What do you see? "Martin and I… well… you likely know that…"

"Dear, I know all about it. About you, your missed chance at a wedding, then you left to go up to London, then you went back to the village, and are expecting Martin's child."

"It's my baby too, you know!" I nearly yelled.

"Of course dear. Obviously. Martin could not father a child without a woman involved." She paused. "I've rather bollixed this up, haven't I?"

I gritted my teeth then told her, "I suppose it sounds that way."

"Yes, it does. Okay, here goes. One more time. Miss Glasson, or do you prefer Louisa?"

"Louisa."

"Yes. Louisa, I'm Ruth Ellingham, Martin's aunt. My younger sister just called me with the latest news; that Martin has just become engaged to you. Congratulations and all that. I think that's what's usually said at these times."

"Pleased to… well to talk to you."

"And I do apologize Louisa. I'm an old woman who's spent far too much time dealing with deranged prisoners so my social skills may not be up to snuff. I'll have to work on that. Get out more – see normal people."

I sighed, for what was normal; that is who was normal? If I was normal I'd have climbed into Martin's bed the night that Danny Steel left. But the second bottle of wine got in his way. I shook my head. I'd have worked my womanly ways on the good doctor and tied him to my affections long before this.

"It's alright, Ruth. I can call you Ruth?"

"Yes," she answered. "Even my patients call me Ruth; so much more formal than Doctor Ellingham." She sniggered. "And when I visit I think _one_ Doctor Ellingham will be quite enough."

I was taken aback. "Are you visiting soon?"

"Oh, perhaps," she muttered. "I have friends staying down in Falmouth for the summer. I might pop over there to see them and then I could come up to see you and my sister. Been ages since I've been down that way. The last was for poor Phil Norton." I heard her breath deeply. "That was what? Six years back?"

I recalled how stoic Joan was at Phil's funeral. "Seven years it was. You're right. Poor Phil. Motor neurone disease."

Ruth grunted. "They've reclassified it as amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, my dear. But enough of medicine, at least _that_ sort of medicine. How are you doing? I gather the baby will be here in a few weeks."

I got a kick down below to remind me. "Near the end of July."

Ruth grunted. "I never had the chance or that choice," she said. "To be a mother." I heard a tinge of regret in her words. "Not that there wasn't a man or two who were keen on doing the job." She cleared her throat. "But I didn't want to marry so there went motherhood for Ruth Ellingham." There was a pause. "Things weren't quite as… _free_ … and understanding as nowadays."

Taking that backhanded compliment about being an unwed mother I didn't know what to say next. "A bit more modern. Women don't _have_ to be _married_ to have babies, you know."

"Sorry Louisa. I'm just nattering on. Don't mind me. I do apologize. But you are engaged – once more. Going to give it another try?"

I breathed deep. "The baby is fine Ruth. Did Joanie, I mean, did Joan tell you we know the sex? It's a boy."

"I always thought it odd to think about babies having sex, but you know what I mean," she replied. "Gender certainly, and I have had a few patients who despite their outward appearance are convinced that they are actually the other gender. A bit awkward for them of course. Confusing as hell."

I shook my head. Ruth Ellingham seemed just as cerebral as her nephew, but I'd heard more about her from her own mouth than I got out of Martin. But she tended to overshare. Trying to think what to say next I was stymied, but Ruth went on filling the dead air.

"So Louisa, would you tell that nephew of mine that I'll likely be staying with Joanie for a few weeks. Taking a holiday from Broadmoor I feel like I've been released from stir myself. You do know I work at Broadmoor Prison? Criminal psychiatrist. I do have a tendency to overanalyze because of it. Makes for the most ghastly discussion at dinner parties."

"Okay."

She chuckled. "Have no fear. I just need some good clean country air to blow the dust of my aged brain. Cornwall will be just the thing."

"Good, fine then. I'll… we'll look forward to meeting, uhm, seeing you. Aunt Ruth."

She chuckled. " _Aunt_ Ruth, my my. It will be odd to hear that again. I only speak to my nephew once or twice a year, and he always calls me just Ruth. Least he has since he was around thirteen or so. Always was too grown up that boy, even when he was six. But you can call me aunt, if you wish."

I shook my head and I heard the kettle start to go. "Aunt Ruth, sure. Listen the kettle just started to whistle and…"

"Go have your tea my dear. Decaf though or the caffeine will have you running to the toilet more than you wish." She coughed. "Part of my training was in a women's prison, you see, and some were having babies. I know just enough about maternity care to be dangerous."

The kettle was really shrieking in full song now. "Bye then, Aunt Ruth."

"Goodbye Louisa. Looking forward to seeing you soon."

"Bye bye." I lowered the handset, my head awhirl.


	63. Chapter 63

**Chapter 63 – Late**

I heard footsteps in the house. I shot awake fully, not that I had been asleep. "Martin?" I said. "That you?"

Footsteps made their slow way up to the second floor. "Yes," Martin said, appearing as a dim blob in the dark doorway.

I turned to read the clock. "It's nine o'clock." I had been knackered so had a lonely meal, studied my school things, then had gone to bed. I yawned, trying to wake more.

He sighed. "Sorry I woke you."

I switched on the light and saw a very muddy, bedraggled person in a ravaged suit. "Oh no. What happened?"

Martin brushed at his mussed hair with a dirty hand. "Wreck. Autos."

"Was it on the moor?"

He came closer. "Doesn't matter, but yes."

Grunting I managed to sit up in bed; which was not easy as I had a water and baby-filled soccer ball where my waistline used to be.

Martin made as if to help me, but he stared at his smudged hand and filthy sleeve and withdrew it. "I… I'll just go wash."

I peered into his eyes. What I saw there was not comforting. " _Something's_ wrong. What is it?"

He shrugged. "I'll be in the bath."

I swung my feet out and put on my slippers. "Let me use the toilet."

Martin sighed but stepped aside so I could lumber past him. I looked back and from the way his shoulders were slumped knew what Penhale had called out to help with had been bad. "I'm sorry Martin. Sorry you… have deal with things like that."

He shrugged. "It's my job."

From the look on his face I could tell something about how bad it was. "How many?"

He held up three fingers. "Three to hospital by air ambulance. Luckily it's a clear night. One…" he paused. "Uhm…" a deep sigh.

I was continuing to add to my encyclopedia of 'Martin'. The look he had was one of a desperate struggle to no avail. So there was a fatality. I wanted to hug him. "Anybody from the village?"

"Don't think so. A retired builder from north of Delabole. Name of Gloyne I think.

My heart fell. "Steven Gloyne. About seventy-five?" I knew him. Dad had worked for him for a time. "Oh dear. Such a nice man."

His eyes went wide and he stepped towards me. "Perhaps a cerebral aneurysm or a myocardial infarct. Not a mark on him. He was riding in a car when the attack hit. Just fell over. The driver pulled halfway to the verge, but a following car slammed into them. They, in the second car, had been drinking. Neither driver wore their seat harnesses. Idiots." He stopped. "The late Mr… Gloyne, was wearing his, but he…" Another shrug.

I leaned close to Martin and without hugging him managed to give him a peck on the cheek. "I'm sure you tried." I brushed at a smear of mud that had got on my nightdress.

Martin looked at the dirty mark with regret. "Your pretty nightdress."

I brushed at the spot. "Don't worry."

"CPR, the AED, adrenaline, the works. Nothing to be done. Meanwhile the ones in the second car had to be cut out of the wreckage. Fire and Rescue did a superb job."

I looked close at the man I loved and could see marks of a dark liquid on his sleeves and trousers, plus his shirt was wet with the same. "Like that, was it?" So there had been a lot of blood.

He shuddered. "Right."

I really could not wait any longer. "Toilet."

He nodded at me, but his eyes seemed to be somewhere else.

When I finished in the bathroom, Martin was standing outside the door patiently waiting. I moved aside so he could enter and begin to strip off.

He closed the door and I went back to bed wondering about the bad things that Martin had to deal with. Oh the stupid things of course like when Samantha Collins tried to cut off a mole and bled all over the place, Mr. Cooke carrying his missing (and dead and stinking) bird around in a bag, and even me – coming and going from the village like a madwoman. I sighed mentally. Plus the occasional death.

With a little soap and water I had cleaned the dirty spot on my gown so I didn't have to change. I got back into bed on my right side with an extra pillow under my head and a third between my knees to ease my pelvis and back into a less twisted angle. I lay there listening to Martin wash away grime. In a little while he emerged in his cotton trousers and a soft t-shirt. The bed jiggled when he got in.

"Sorry," he said.

I half-rolled onto my back and took his hand and pulled him close into a spoon. "God your feet are cold."

He dutifully moved then off my bare legs.

"No," I tugged him closer. "Let me warm you up." Silently he lay next to me and in a little while his feet were bearable. "Oh lord! You didn't have dinner!"

"I had a MuleBar* driving back."

I rolled over to face him. "Not a proper meal." He weighed 14 stone or thereabouts.

"I'm fine."

I got out of bed and put on slippers and dressing gown. "You need protein. Eggs and rashers? Toast? Juice? Or leftover chicken and salad?

He groaned. "You don't have to do that. Besides tomorrow is your interview. It's very late."

I smiled at him. "Only half-nine. Come on." Taking his hand I pulled him to his feet. "Now let me fix you a meal." Least I could do.

He yawned down at me. "Perhaps eggs."

"With cheese, peppers, and onions?" My mouth was watering. "Fried potatoes as well?"

He grinned slightly. "That would do."

I took him downstairs and made him sit and watch while I cooked for him. He meekly sat in a chair, another sign he was exhausted, plus he kept rubbing his eyes. The news that I spoke to his Aunt Ruth would keep for the morrow.

 **Notes:**

 *** MuleBar – a brand of energy bar**


	64. Chapter 64

**Chapter 64 – Interview**

The interview was going well, I thought. When I made my concluding statement Stu Mackenzie gave me a terse nod and a quick grin. I relaxed slightly but kept going; saying what I felt deep inside. I thought I was making an excellent summary about the needs of the school, my teaching experience and know-how, and how I could add to keeping the school on an even keel. "Better," I added, "move the school forward - for the students - of course. Prepare them for life." I paused for effect. "You know me. I'm a villager through and through. A Stick of Rock. Portwenn primary must continue, will continue. I… I won't let you down. I won't let the children and their parents down."

I saw a brief smirk from Graham, so I added, "And when I went up to London, it was a mistake. I thought I was… well, you can imagine what I must have thought and you'd probably be right. I was running away, but I've come back. I'm here; I'm home." I leaned forward, as much as my fat belly allowed. "Give me a chance to keep Portwenn School strong and build on what we've accomplished so far."

"Right," Stu muttered. He turned his head side-to-side and peered at each of the other Governors, Graham Harding and Stan Branning. They both shook their heads at him. "Any more questions?" Stu asked.

Graham cleared his throat. "I think that about wraps it up." He glanced fretfully at his watch. "I have to get to the undertaker."

Stan, who taught History for the school, yawned. "Sorry; not you Miss Glasson. I was up late." He yawned again and stretched out his arms. "I need coffee."

Coffee. Oh the thought of it made my mouth water. Just the smell of it would set me to craving it. But I'd had no caffeine since late December and as long as I nursed the baby, I'd avoid it. More months of slogging through a morning, but of course I wasn't drinking wine either, so no Monday mornings recovering from that. I looked at the Governors and wondered what they were thinking? At least Martin wasn't here. That would have made me too nervous. I was certain he still wasn't crazy about me working.

Stu stood up to offer his hand which I shook briskly. "Thank you; all of you," I told them. "And Graham I am so sorry about your mum."

The man sighed, fished out a handkerchief and wiped his nose. "It's alright. Mum were old – died in her bed, like she wanted. Unlike old Mr. Gloyne," he said sadly.

That was my hint to sigh. "Terrible. I _am_ sorry about your mother and Mr. Gloyne."

"Accidents happen," Stu grunted. "I suppose the Doc was out there."

"Yep. Martin, Doctor Ellingham, did get home quite late," I answered. Despite being engaged I tried to use his title in public.

"I reckon Penhale had a field day," Stan said with a laugh. " 'Bit of action', that one's always lookin' for."

The Governors looked around, not knowing quite what to say. "Joe… cares about his job," I made an excuse for our PC. "Like our village GP."

Stu chuckled. "Least he ain't depressed like Mylow was after that woman left." He shook his head. "No wonder he left the village. Poor bugger."

Stu glared at Stan then smiled at me. "Now Miss Glasson, if you would leave us to talk?" he looked at his companions who both nodded assent. "I expect we won't take long."

My heart fell. "Ah. Right. Sure." I backed towards the door. "I'll be in my, that is, _the_ office." I left them pulling the classroom door closed behind me. Suddenly I got all sweaty as the hallway seemed to get blurry. I put a hand on the wall to steady myself.

"Miss Glasson?" Suddenly Sally Chadwick was at my side. "Lor' you look quite peaky." She put an arm around me to support me. "Dizzy?"

"A little." What I wanted to do was to slide down the wall and sit on the floor. 'Sit down don't fall down' Martin would be advising if he were here.

"Come on girl," she said. "Let's get you to your office. Some orange juice maybe? Did you eat lunch?"

"Some…" I mumbled. "I only had ten minutes. Couple bites of a sandwich, some carrots…"

Sally's strong arms and legs got me to the school office. She lowered me into my desk chair. "Now you sit." In a flash she was handing me a glass of cold orange juice. "Sip it. Don't gulp."

My shaky hand brought the glass to my mouth but my stomach roiled. "Maybe this… isn't a good idea," I mumbled.

Sally took the glass and held it to my lips. "Sips. Right?"

I took a couple of swallows and it tasted so good. "Wow."

She got about half the glassful into me. Then she pulled my lunch bag open. "Louisa! You didn't a thing!" She opened a pack of biscuits. They were small and plain, the only ones Martin would keep in the house. "Eat these."

I slowly ate two and the world started to come back. "Just sort of… grayed out… in the hall."

Sally crossed her arms. "I'm calling the Doc."

"NO! God no."

She shook her head disapprovingly. "I know what he would say! Running yourself ragged, not eating, and not enough rest. Low blood sugar I imagine."

"Thank _you_ Doctor Chadwick."

She looked at me in concern. "Drink that juice and eat those biscuits. " she pulled the dry remains of my sandwich from the bag and binned it. "I'll go catch Allison and have her cook up some eggs? Or perhaps a sandwich? See what she has available."

I winked at her. "Yes, mum."

Sally leaned over and half-kissed the top of my head. "Now be a good girl or Doc Martin will be here to give you the what for."

"I understand."

"Good. Now do as I say."

Sally came back quickly with a bag of crisps. "These will hold you until Allison throws together that sandwich. Cheese and tomato."

"Thanks Sally."

"You're _our_ Miss Glasson," she said. "We like you Louisa. And you take care of us; we take care of you. Boss."

I pulled open the crisps bag and filled my mouth. "Martin would have _fit_ if he knew I was eating these."

"Then we won't tell him."

Allison's heavy footfalls arrived soon bearing a sandwich. "I even cut the crusts off and cut it on the bias," she said as she set it before me. "When I was carryin' Delft I got the shakes from time to time." Delft was her twelve-year-old daughter. "I was skinny as a rail until I got preggers," she said as she glanced down at her massive baps and belly. "Hm. Looks like _my_ baby fat stayed."

Allison Lane was heavy but she had a good heart. "Thanks Allison," I said as I bit into the sandwich. I changed the subject. Discussing baby fat was not what I wanted to do. "Fresh bread. Gosh."

Allison grinned. "Look I gotta go meet the bus when Allison gets home." She looked hard at Sally. "You'll see she gets home."

"Of course," sally said but then she sneezed.

"I'm fine," I protested. "Sally? You sick?" I leaned away from her. I didn't want a virus.

"Hay fever," she sniffled then scratched at her neck.

After Allison left Sally sat in the visitor's chair and watched me eat. "When you're ready I'll get you home," she said.

"But I am _fine_."

"Like I said. Maybe not. How'd the interview go?"

I shrugged. "Okay, I think."

The phone rang on her desk and she went to answer.

I did feel that my interview went well. But… there was that… _thing_. I resigned the job once before; ran away; off to bloody London. Shame on _me_. So they might not want me to be within a mile of the school. Still Stu had been so encouraging on the phone when I lived away, and again after Mr. Strain cracked.

Sally appeared in the doorway. "Louisa? The Governors. They want to see you."

I took a deep breath then stood up slowly. "Good. Get this over with."

"I'll come with you… just down the hall."

"I am fine."

"Sure," she smiled. "You just keep saying that."

Escorted by Sally I slowly walked back to room 3, where the Governors sat in stony silence as I went in. Sally stayed in the hall but looking back through the glass in the door, I saw she was giving me a thumbs-up. I perched on the edge of a table to face the men, ready to bolt.

Stu started. "Miss Glasson, we have made a decision."

"Ah," I forced a smile but I felt like crying. "From your faces I can guess this won't be very good news." This was not good news. Couldn't be. They looked like someone had died. Well Graham's mum had just gone. Buck up Louisa, I thought.

Stu snorted. "Let me finish."

"The other two candidates were very strong," Stan added.

My heart sank lower. "Oh." My teeth took a firm hold on my lower lip. This won't be good. Damn. Bugger!

Graham rolled his eyes at Stan but said nothing.

Stu rubbed his hands together and he smiled. "So we have made a decision. Took some doin'. But you've got it Miss Glasson! You've got the job! You're our new Permanent Head Teacher!"

Did he say that? "Really? But…"

Stu now radiated happiness. "Them other two – good people – but they don't know the village, or us. _You_ do. And we know what you can do. Congratulations!" He shook my hand as my ears rang with his words.


	65. Chapter 65

**Chapter 65 – Good News**

Sally nearly crushed me in a giant hug, and I had to actually push her away so I could breathe. "Sally… thanks… but… can't get any… air…" I hissed at her. She dropped her arms and then I got some air.

"Oh Louisa, Miss Glasson, I'm just…" she nearly blubbered. Her expression could only be described as overjoyed. "Happy; really, really happy, for you."

And for the school I hope, rang in my head. Relax Louisa, you've done this before. "Me too. Happy."

Sally looked at the wreck of papers scattered across my desk. "Just let that lot lie, right? You need to get home. Come on, I'll walk you." She snagged her handbag and picked up mine as well, plus my hobo bag that I used to carry books and such back and forth. "This'll be so much better… uhm, with _him_ gone."

Stu had assured me that all was settled with Mr. Strain. "Poor man," I fretted. "He did as well as he might."

Sally nodded. "But he _won't_ be back."

The Governors had exercised the 'unable to perform duties' clause and work insurance had paid off Strain until he was well and able to seek employment. Unfortunately that meant that funds were tight for the school was self-insured against such things. Almost like having two head teachers on the payroll. I shook my head. "No Sally, certainly not. Mr. Strain has left the building, once and for all."

I closed my laptop and reached out to tuck it under my arm.

"No! Lousier, just leave it!" Sally said emphatically. "You _need_ a night off from school things." She rolled her eyes at me. "And after that little _thing_ today?" She shook her head. "If you were my daughter I know what I'd be telling you! You _have_ to care of yourself."

Graying out after my interview had been scary. "I suppose you are spot-on." I sighed. "And I do need to slow down a bit – perhaps." I started to chew my lip. "Now to tell Martin the good news."

Martin was tidying up reception when Sally got me to the surgery door. He peered at us quizzically as Sally escorted me inside. She positively hovered over me until I greeted Martin.

"Hello," I said to him.

"He checked his watch. "You're running late. I was concerned. About to…" Suddenly he seemed to notice Sally close by my side. "Something wrong?"

"No…"

Sally cleared her throat. "I, well I was complaining about my hay fever, and Miss Glasson thought I ought to come see you." Her eyes fell. "I know it's after five, but…"

He shook his head. "Surgery is closed."

"Oh Martin, she's here," I implored him. "Can't you just?" I held up thumb and finger a quarter inch apart. "Only take you that long. Come on." I looked at Sally who was clearly trying to stifle a sneeze while she scratched at her neck. "I think… you ought to."

Martin scowled, but dipped his neck, strode to the file cabinet and began pawing through the patient file packets. "Chiswick?"

Sally rolled her eyes at me. "Chadwick, Mrs.," she informed him.

Martin whipped out a file then closed the drawer firmly. Cocking his head he gave me a bothered look. "Go through."

Sally gave me a grateful smile then walked into Martin's surgery.

After she had gone, he said to me, "Hello."

"Hi."

"How did the uhm… interview go?"

I smiled. "Fine; quite _well_ actually. Now how about Sally?"

"Harrumph, right," he moaned then went into surgery firmly closing the door behind him.

"Better then well, Martin," I whispered. "Very good, it went."

I put my things away, visited the loo, and then peered into the fridge for dinner makings. That's about the time Martin started yelling. Even in the far corner of the kitchen and through a closed door I could hear him quite well.

"Oh good GOD! What-EVER were you THINKING?" his bass voice boomed.

I hung my head. "Mar-tin, _really_? Must you?" I tip-toed (well as much as I could; more of a slow waddling half-limp) up to the surgery door. I put my ear close to it.

I heard Sally say, "I don't know _what_ I was thinking."

"So you thought you could SCRUB it off?" Martin screeched at her.

I bit my lip so that I didn't shout back at him.

She muttered something about salt crystals.

He replied, "NOW you have a _raging_ case of cellulitis; caused by a staphylococcus infection! What IS it with YOU PEOPLE?"

My hand was on the knob ready to barge in, but I took my hand away. None of my business – at the moment. Talk to him later. But really? Must he yell? Rude bugger he could be. There was nothing of the nicey-wicey GP about him! Good thing his surgical patients were all anesthetized and sleeping. Yet, I felt when he was operating he'd be rather controlled; in his element, master of the scene. I closed my eyes and sagged against the door frame. I felt tears well up.

"Humph," I heard him mutter. "I'll prescribe a course of antibiotics to clear up this rot, and then I can remove the tattoo surgically, and under _ster-ile_ conditions."

Sally had a tattoo? Plus an infection?

"Thank you Doctor," she replied. "I don't know what came over me. Half-term – I went to Spain and it felt… well I never had a tattoo before." She sniffled. "Stupid of me."

"Yes, it was," he told her.

Sally got a tattoo. Hm. She always seemed quite the stay-at-home mother hen type, not the rock-music type or one to go hang out with the surfer boys. I reckoned there might be any number of people walking about with inked skins. Her business; not mine. I had enough things to worry about on my own. I slowly backed away from the door and went back to the fridge.

In a couple more minutes, Sally came out, thanked Martin, smiled at me, and left.

Martin walked towards me stiffly. "She, uhm…"

I held up my hands. "Say no more."

He sighed. "When she came in all sniffly and red-eyed, I feared she might be carrying infection, but she's not. That is she would be infectious." He looked at me closely. "So no worries that she might have – or be able to – make you sick, or the baby."

"I see."

He came towards me and gave me a brief hug, which I returned.

"I thought sea bass for dinner, or?" he mumbled.

"Whatever."

His hand strayed from my back down to touch my belly.

I put my hand on his and pressed it against our son growing down there. "He's fine in there. And you?"

He bobbed his head. "A usual day."

"Bad, eh?"

He shrugged. "Not really, no. Just why do people _come_ for advice and then _reject_ it? I prescribe medication they don't take, order tests which they can't be bothered to go to hospital to have performed, or they utterly ignore any bit of medical advice! I might as well be a village voodoo doctor. So much for medical training. Magic spells and mumbo-jumbo would work just as well."

I leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. "You do help people; you do."

"Three steps back and one forward most times," he snorted. "Like that woman…" he hooked a thumb in the direction of the front door.

"Sally Chadwick."

He shook his head. "Did harm to herself trying to remedy a few minutes of foolish impulse."

"I'm sure she didn't mean to do it."

He rolled his shoulders then squeezed me once more. "We should eat."

I leaned in to him and kissed him on the mouth. When our lips parted I told him, "I got the job! I'm Head Teacher!"

He froze.

"Problem?" I asked frostily. I just knew he'd be unhappy.

"Ahm, no. Good, that's good – your job. Congratulations. Right. Good. Good news."

I peered at him suspiciously. "Well don't turn any cartwheels over it, Mar-tin." Hell. "Sorry Martin, I'm just jumpy."

He half-turned to look around the kitchen. "We can eat out, if you wish."

"OH?"

"Yes. You're probably tired of fish."

Not sure what he was saying, so I bit my lip. Here goes. "And another thing. After the interview, I was all hot and tired, hadn't gotten much sleep last night, and I hadn't eaten most of my lunch. So anyway I was standing in the hallway, outside the interview room, and I sort of almost fainted."

"Sort of? Almost?!" He immediately whisked me into surgery, and half-lifted me onto the examination table. He took up stethoscope and blood-pressure thing and went to work. He said nothing until he was finished taking pulse, blood pressure, and temperature, then peered into my eyes with his ophthalmoscope. "Have you felt faint since?"

"No. No, Sally and Allison got juice and food into me and I felt better."

He slumped down on his wheeled stool. "Haven't I told you that you were over doing things? Good God! Louisa, you must… _must_ slow down. Starting tomorrow, you are working half days. I demand it."

"You're not my doctor, Martin," I shot back.

"See? You mind even less than my patients." Then he stormed away and into the hall but he came back, with a sick expression. "Louisa, I am sorry. That was uncalled for, even from the likes of me. So… please… switch to half-days, and I think you also ought to call the OB clinic for a checkup."

"But I'm alright now?"

He cocked his head at an angle. "Perhaps."

"I see." I sighed. "Alright. I'll work mornings only. Take a nap after lunch and try to rest."

"Will you?" He picked up my hand and held it tightly. "If anything would have happened…"

"But it didn't, did it?" I tried to sit upright. "Help this pregnant lady get up and we'll get dinner."

He shook his head. "Perhaps I ought to take a blood sample and examine your urine for elevated proteins… or sugar."

I raised an eyebrow. "You can play doctor later Martin, but we need dinner first."

"What's that mean?"

I nearly laughed. "Tell you later. Now, Bert's restaurant?"

He shuddered. "At least it's nearby."


	66. Chapter 66

**Chapter 66 – In a Mood**

Intense pleasure flooded over me as I bit down. "Oh Martin that is just so… what an _amazing_ sensation!"

He wrinkled his nose at me. "It's only a baked red snapper."

I reached over to his plate for another forkful of the delicious white flesh. He grudgingly pushed his plate nearer to me so I could get at his meal. "I think it's the sauce." I ate another forkful. "Wow. OMG. White wine, capers, and orange zest, what else?"

Martin exhaled slowly at me in a manner I'd classify as irritated. "What?" I replied. "You upset that I'm eating your meal?"

"Well you've barely touched your chicken."

The piece I ate of the chicken breast was dry and tough. "It's just…. when I smelled your fish…" I had to stop for saliva was filling up my mouth. "I couldn't help myself."

Martin grunted. "Hyperosmia."

"What?"

"Hyperosmia; an increased sensitivity to odors. This is interesting. Usually the condition is found early in pregnancy and the sensitivity generally has a negative response. Typically the condition causes emesis from morning sickness." He reached across the table and took my wrist for about ten seconds. "Hm. Your pulse is elevated."

Only Martin would use the word emesis instead of vomiting. I smiled at him. "It's just that lately I can't eat very much at one time, right? But when I smelled this tasty snapper..." It wasn't just the fish either; and I'd been noticing it a lot lately.

"Yes, your enlarging uterus compresses the stomach and intestines preventing…"

I batted my eyes at him. "I _know Mar-tin_. Heartburn too," I whispered.

"Hm," he murmured then he picked up his plate and passed it over to me. He looked around and called out to our host, "Bert?"

Bert Large waddled over. "Something wrong with your meals my lovers?" he asked. "Louisa you've barely touched your chicken. Summat wrong with it?"

I opened my mouth, but Martin butted in. "Take that," he pointed at my plate where my nearly untouched meal spoke volumes, "away. Louisa found it not to her liking."

Bert's face fell. "Oh. I can get you another."

"Bit, dry," I said. "Perfectly fine I guess but suddenly I'm in the mood for fish. The sauce is amazing!"

Bert half-bowed to me. "That sauce my dear lady is a result of having your mum working her culinary magic!" he winked then smacked his lips. "I do think she's added a bit of panache to everything. You would not believe what she's done to my Cornish beef as well!"

Martin opened his mouth to correct Bert on the use of the word, so I gently pushed my foot against his shin under the table. I looked around the restaurant terrace where every table was filled. "You're very busy tonight."

Bert chuckled. "Right you are." He smiled. "Good news travels fast on word of mouth. Since Eleanor's been helping out, my restaurant is jam-packed, and my coffers are filling! But about your dinner? What would you have me do?"

"Bring another red snapper, Bert," Martin told him. "Louisa has eaten most of mine. And be quick about it."

I looked down at the plate. "Gosh I have." The sprouts and potatoes were nearly untouched. "Quite the meat eater I am."

Bert touched his bowed head in a salute and went away.

"Hyperosmia," Martin muttered. "Any negative smells as well?"

I shrugged. "Perhaps not. But I got a whiff of the food bin at school and that was pretty horrid. But that's typical."

Martin leaned forward and pulled on my lower left eyelid to peer into it. "Your pupils are dilated."

"Are they? Well the sun's going down."

"Hm."

"What's _hm_ mean?"

He sipped at his water and adjusted his tie. "Nothing."

"You asked about negative smells, but what about positive ones," I asked him softly.

"The condition is generally present early in pregnancy. First trimester. Middle of the third though?" He stared at me. "Unusual."

I wriggled in my chair. "Just that…"

"What?"

I sighed. I couldn't tell him that for last few days I'd very aware of him – I mean his maleness, if that makes sense. His smell, his shaving cream, the bland shampoo he uses, the slight locker room smell from the hamper when he dropped his used underwear in, that sort of thing. I looked at him very closely from his smart appearance to his green eyes and thick lips, the way his short hair just touched the top of his ears, his thick-fingered hands – they were quite large actually – amazing he could be a surgeon with those. I felt a pulse in my throat and suddenly everything was in sharper focus. His blue suit with red tie and crisp white shirt and without looking I knew his black shoes were brilliantly polished.

I inhaled purposely and got a better smell of Martin – my Martin. I felt my face grow flushed as I looked at him and I felt I wanted to eat him up with a spoon. I reached across the table and took his hand for I wanted this moment to last.

"What?" he asked.

"I… just wanted…"

He perked up. "Something wrong?"

Bert was suddenly at our table holding another plate. "Doc here you go. On the house!"

I dropped Martin's hand and took up my fork. I nodded my thanks to Bert and finished the fish on what had been Martin's meal. "Thanks Martin."

"For what?"

I looked across the harbor out to sea. The slanting sunlight was lighting the sky making everything glow. I cranked my head around thinking about the last few days. Edith, Mr. Strain, mum, Martin's Aunt Ruth revealed, I got my job back, Martin and I were engaged again… I sighed. Portwenn, the sea, the sky, even the smelly gulls, were part of this world and I could not wait to introduce our son to it.

Martin reached over and touched my cheek so I turned to face him. "Louisa? You look a million miles away."

Portwenn, was my village; my home. Where I was born and raised, went to school, loved and lost, and loved again. I looked down at the big bulge that had taken so much of my life these past few months.

It was a shock when I found out I was expecting. Knocked me off my pins for a while. But I was back. Back home. Back with Martin. And right then I knew that was bound to this baby and this man forever. If there was an answer to what it was all about, I knew it that moment. This was what the mystery was about. Life. Raising kids. Finding someone to love. Looking at the sunset in my home village, and lusting after the tall man sitting across from me, where his face took on a concerned look. It would all change soon enough. Best to go for the gusto, for I was in a mood.

"Louisa?" he asked. "What _are_ you thinking?"

I smiled at him. "Eat your fish, Martin. Think you want coffee?"

He replied, "No. A bit late."

"Good." I stroked his hand. "There's afters at home."

His eyes got a puzzled look then, "Louisa!" he hissed. "You don't mean?" he whispered as he ducked his head.

I took a deep breath and as the understated aroma of Martin Ellingham hit me it almost made me faint. I didn't need to use a spoon. I leaned towards him, feeling my face blush, as I rubbed his large fingers. "Martin right now it's just _you_ and _me_ but soon enough we'll have to be up at all hours with a fussy newborn baby boy. And right now I wish for _you_ ," I told him. "And only you," I whispered to him.

He stared at me for a moment, and then he must have agreed, for he bolted his food in a few gulps, folded his napkin and put it aside. He waved in Bert's direction. "Bert? The bill?"


	67. Chapter 67

**Chapter 67 – Different**

Working half-days was different; really different. Before I was the first one to school and the last to leave. I both opened the building and locked it up. After my schedule change I still would unlock the building, but now at mid-day after the students had eaten lunch and had gone out for playtime, I'd waddle down one hill then up the other to Martin's house.

The Portwenn girl pack sniggered at me as they pranced past me. "Lor' the woman's gonna pop," I heard one say, just loud enough so I'd notice.

"I envy those baps though," said another.

"Bet she and Doc are havin' fun!" said a third.

The fourth said, "Ugh! That tosser!"

I glared at them but did not slacken my pace. I knew them all; had taught them, or tried to. They were bored, and shiftless, or nearly so. They needed jobs, or boyfriends, or something. No – jobs first, for if they had boyfriends they'd be on their second kid by now. I wondered what the village might do to give those girls something to do. Must be something. Perhaps the school might… oh there was no money. I pondered this as I got to Martin's.

On the first day Pauline held the kitchen door open for me and bowed. "I don't know how you did it, Louisa," she half-whispered, "but the Doc seems to be in a much better mood."

"I heard that," he barked from inside.

"Perhaps not," I told her.

She grinned. "One of those mornin's."

I smelled soup bubbling on the hob.

Pauline grabbed her handbag. "I'm off to lunch!" she yelled.

Martin appeared in the hall. "One hour, Pauline. One!"

"Yeah, yeah," she said cracking her gum. "Enjoy lunch." She left us.

I set my case down and rubbed my back.

Martin sprang instantly to alert and jumped to my side. "How are you feeling?" He pulled out a chair. "Sit."

I washed my hands at the sink then lowered myself to the chair he held. "I'm fine. He's kicking a lot though."

Martin's hand went down there and touched me just as a big kick arose. His eyes went wide. "Does that hurt?"

"Only when he thumps my bladder."

He winced. "I am sorry."

"What for?"

He shrugged. "Soup is nearly ready."

"Smells good. Potato and leek. Shall I make a green salad?"

"No, I will," he asserted.

Our dynamic was awkward like this. I'd offer to help him, or he'd offer help to me, but there was this undercurrent of caution. Undercurrent? Bloody hell it was a raging flood filled with unseen boulders and logs lurking to tear your foot off if you stepped wrong. Despite our new arrangement (engaged again!) we were wary; burned too many times to feel safe.

I grabbed his hand and rubbed the back of it. "How was your morning?"

He opened his mouth then stopped. "The… uhm, the Truro midwife came in…. for you."

"Midwife?"

"Works for Truro Obstetrics. Said she'd come by later."

"Ah."

Martin touched my shoulder then started pulling salad ingredients from the fridge. "You can sit there and tear the lettuce."

"Oh, right. Women's work."

He had a shocked look when he set the salad fixing's before me along with a bowl, knife, and cutting board.

I chuckled. "Just teasing. If I kicked off my shoes I'd be barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen."

"Why would you take off your shoes?" he responded.

"It's a joke Martin."

"What?"

I sighed. "It's an old snarky comment from _traditional_ men that women ought to be 'barefoot, pregnant…'"

"And _in the kitchen_ ," he finished the phrase. He dipped his head. "I see. Rather anti-female."

I tore the lettuce, and sliced carrots and a tomato for our salad.

Martin stirred the pot with a wooden spoon. "Do you want bread?"

I rose with slow movements, to get the bread from the cupboard, a pot of good farm butter, and something to drink. Water for him and milk for me.

He put the filled soup bowls on the table and we were ready to eat. "After lunch you ought to nap."

"Or something that I want to do? Like read? Or take a short walk?"

His head dipped once more. "Suit yourself."

I rapped the table for his attention until he looked up sheepishly at me. "Now…" I started. "I am an adult, a grown woman, who just happens to be expecting a baby. I am not mentally or physically impaired and I am perfectly capable… but as nap later would be good."

Any further discussion ended with a rap at the door. "Oh, God, it's my mum."

Eleanor peered at us through the door, which was propped open. "Sorry. Interruptin' your meal."

I waved her inside just to be polite. "Care to join us?"

She yawned as she stood in the door and looked at her watch. "Naw. I just got up. Late night after the restaurant closed." She took a big drag on her cig then stubbed it out under her foot. "I'll pick that up on my way out Martin 'cause I know you don't approve of smokin'. Or litterin'." She hacked and coughed next.

He replied to her, "You must schedule a medical workup."

"Will do, _Doctor_ Ellingham," she simpered.

I made eyes at Martin to stop the exchange which he did. "So, mum, what's going on?"

She brightened. "Oh, I was busy as all get out the last few days. I'm sorry I couldn't be around much. Bert said you were crazy about my red snapper!"

That wasn't the only thing I was crazy about last night. Poor Martin didn't get much sleep but he didn't complain; least not to me. I didn't complain either.

Martin rose and shook the kettle. "Tea?"

"Coffee. Ooh, you got an expresso machine. I'll have one of those."

Martin set to get getting the machine going.

Mum leaned against the counter. "Lou-lou, how are you?"

"Fine."

"Good, fine." She looked around the room. "Awfully green on the walls."

"That's a project for the future," Martin told her. "Paint fumes and a developing foetus do not mix."

Martin and I had talked about painting the walls but I had agreed that paint fumes would be a bad idea while I was carrying a baby.

She nodded. "Right." She was fidgety and I sensed she wanted to say something.

"Mum, what is it?"

She sighed. "I hear you two," she brought her index fingers together and hooked them together. "Gonna get hitched."

I smiled at Martin. "Yes, yes we are."

"Ah." Mum rolled her eyes. "I just hope you do a better job of it then I did," she muttered. "So anyway, congrats and all that." She looked at her watch. "You know what? I'm off." She stepped towards the door, but I called her back.

I felt sorry for her and for me. "Mum, I'll be takin' a walk later. Can I come by and you and me go out together?" We'd pretty much ignored each other since she came back.

She froze then said, "Okay, Lou-lou. I'd like that."

"About two-ish?"

"Okay," she answered. "I'll be at the restaurant." I watched while she walked out just as the espresso machine gurgled signally the water was hot.

Martin went to the door, bent to retrieve the squashed cigarette on the slate outside and binned it. He washed his hands carefully before he returned to table. "What was that about?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. It was different, somehow." Not quite the typical Eleanor. "Like she wanted something."


	68. Chapter 68

**Chapter 68 – Present**

I had a nice nap, dithered over the shopping list for weekend then had to finally admit that I was anxious to go see mum. She wanted something and I was afraid to think what it might be. She'd trained me to expect disappointment so how could I expect anything else.

"Come on Louisa, put on your game face," I said to myself.

I caught Martin between patients and told him I was going out.

He grunted, "Your mum."

"Right," I sighed. "Not that I want to. Not really."

He stared at me. "Don't do anything you don't want to," he muttered. "She's your mum."

I bent over his desk and pecked his cheek. "Thank you."

"What for?"

I heard a throat clearing and Pauline stood in the doorway, holding patient notes. "Doc?" she said, "Mrs. Simmons ain't getting any younger."

He stood. "Send her through."

I turned to leave.

"Louisa?" he asked.

"Yes?"

His eyes spoke something as they caught mine. "Just…"

"Just?"

Pauline came back supporting Mrs. Simmons who was pushing eighty, but she stood as tall as she might after a stroke last year. A brace on her bad leg and a cane helped her get around though. "Miss Glasson," the old woman said to me. "So good to see you lookin' so wonderful. Burstin' with beauty you are."

And baby I thought, as I felt my cheeks blush. "Thank you. How are you Mrs. Simmons?"

"Tolerable but old," she muttered. "Seeing you takes me back to when I was havin' my babies. Bless their souls. Had five you know. Four still livin'."

"I know."

She turned her pale blue eyes on Martin. "If you wanna have more kids you'd better get cracking, Doc!" she cackled. "I figure you know how that works."

"Mrs. Simmons…" he started to say. "That is none of your business."

"Thank you for the advice," I answered her. "Can I finish having _this_ baby first?"

That sent Mrs. Simons into a convulsive cackle. "Good 'un, Miss Glasson! Good 'un! Have to remember to share that at the Church Sewin' Circle!"

I planted a smile on my face and knew that martin was scowling behind me. Nothing he hated worse than other people discussing his actions.

I knocked at the kitchen door of Bert's place and he peered out at me. "Here to see my mum," I said.

"Eleanor!" he called out. "You're beautiful daughter is here callin' for you." He beamed at me. "Louisa, I swear you are lovelier every day."

To be honest it was nice to hear such things but at this point all I wanted was to have this baby and not be pregnant. "Thanks Bert."

Mum showed up wiping her hands on a towel. "Ah, Lou-lou. Ready for that walk?"

Bert winked at me as mum and I walked out.

The breeze was nice and the sea blue under a nearly cloudless sky. Luckily the air was cool so I didn't get too hot as we went past the school to the Coastal Path. My walked silently at my side, until I could take the tension no longer. "Mum, I think… well it seems to me… I uhm…" I said to her haltingly. "Look…"

"I been meaning to say something, Lou-lou. Bert and me were talkin'."

Several odd fears flashed into my head. Mum and Bert? "Oh no," I moaned.

She laughed. "You should see your face!"

I froze. "You can imagine what I might be thinking about that sort of statement."

She laughed once more, so hard she had to wipe tears away. "Not like _that_. Good lord! What do you take me for?"

"Just… go on then. What have you and Bert been talking about?" Might as well get this over with. "Hm?"

"Right. Bert was planning your baby shower see – the man thinks no one else in the whole village cares about you the way he does sweetheart. So he thought he'd throw the baby shower, yes?"

"I know. Go on."

She stopped walking, looked around to ensure no one else was around, but there wasn't here on the path. "I know I was terrible before when you were little, maybe been terrible really, and so I thought, well… I suppose it's a teeny thing, really, but anyway…" she stopped for air while my head went whirling. "Instead of Bert Large hosting the shower, I was thinkin' that I should do it. Give it, see? Sort of a present like."

" _You_ want to give _me_ a baby shower? That would be…" I was almost at a loss for words. She looked at me warily, hanging on my words.

She winced. "I never gave you much – we never had the money Lou-lou. Let me do this for you? Please? Let me make it a present?"

I saw she was nearly ready to cry. What did Martin say the other day about mums? You only get _one_.

"Right, sure," I answered. "That would be nice." I slowly put my arms around my mother and she hugged me tightly.

"Good then. My little girl," she said into my ear. "My little Lou-lou."


	69. Chapter 69

**Chapter 69 – Both Harpy and Oracle**

I was grumpy as I made my way back home. I had heard what mum said, but all the same, why now? Why try to be nice to me now? The baby kicked. "Maybe because of you?" I whispered to him. "Awfully late I'm thinking."

A short dark-haired woman hailed me. "Miss Glasson? Molly McGuire. Truro Obstetrics Midwife. Here in town to check up on my ladies."

Her ladies? She put my back up straight off. "Hello."

"Ah," she looked me up and down. "I can tell you are a _fine_ specimen of womanhood," she crooned with a soft Irish lilt. "So good to see a mother so well and fit! No extra pounds, sensible shoes. I'm thinkin' you eat healthy, don't smoke or drink?"

I nodded at her in a daze.

"Excellent."

"I… what else would I be?"

She squinted up at the glaring sun. "Goin' home?"

"Yes, I am."

"Perhaps we can talk at the house."

Now she'd invited herself inside. Pushy, she was. "Sure, okay." The woman dogged my heels to the kitchen door. "Better come in this way," I said to her. "Martin, I mean Dr. Ellingham, has office hours."

She sniffed. "So it's the doctor is it?"

"What's wrong with that? With him being a doctor?"

She sniffed. "You do know that delivery of babies is a perfectly natural thing? Mother Nature has a way of providin' all things and birth is just _one_ of her many marvels. Tis the men who try to take control; subvertin' a perfectly natural process into one of sterile hospital rooms and glaring lights. Anesthetics, tongs, and pills. I'm hopin' I can show you that a home birth…"

"Home birth?" I gaped and wrinkled my nose. "Sounds lovely," I added sarcastically.

"Oh it is," she went on oblivious to my tone. "Baby comes when?"

"End of July – about."

"Fine, fine," she barged past me into the kitchen and plunked her black case on the table. She opened a flap and whisked out a slim plastic case. "Here."

"What's this?"

"It's a film of one of my mothers having a lovely birthing process. Ah she was a darlin' and a perfect baby girl she had. Have you considered giving birth in a pool? Warm water, scented candles; and _you_ control who is there. No white smocked _doctors_ flittin' about to yank and tear your baby out of _your_ body. Oh no. All natural. Mother Nature has ways."

I'd read a lot of books and what she was telling me might be correct, but I had also read about the dangers of birth asphyxia when oxygen is decreased to the baby, or torn tissues in the mum. "Is that safe?"

"Oh, safe as houses. As natural as the good rain fallin' to the earth." She looked around. "Have you a player? We can have a cuppa as we watch it."

"Uhm, o-kay. Other room, but keep the volume low." I closed the door at the front door to the sitting room firmly and latched it. Molly looked at me quizzically. "Dr. Ellingham's reception room is just on the other side."

She cocked a hand on her hip. "I know."

"Oh?"

"Your choice darlin' who you make the father of _your_ baby." She cleared her throat. "Tea?"

Clearly Nurse McGuire felt I was to wait on her. "Sure. Give me a minute." I got the kettle on as she popped the DVD into the player under the TV that Martin never watched. I watched _Planet Earth_ and _Murder in Suburbia_ on it, plus _Downton Abbey_ of course.

Gentle music came from the speaker and the camera zoomed to a figure of a naked woman, immersed in a blue paddling pool. She looked awful, face red and strained, hair hanging in wet ringlets, moaning and groaning as she labored over the child inside her.

I had to bite my lip and wince. "This does not look very… easy."

"Oh it's all fine; all lovely," Molly crooned. "Here Miss Glasson you see the power of a mother expressed as she brings life into this cruel world; giving the very essence of her body…" Molly was interrupted by a banshee wail from the TV.

I bit my lip as the poor woman on the telly was screaming in full voice, then she switched to moaning and begging, calling for a doctor and pain relief. It sent chills up my spine as the baby twitched in me.

The door to the hall flew open and Martin rushed in. "WHAT is that DEVLISH caterwauling?" he bellowed. He marched to the telly and switched it off with a savage twist of his wrist. He then whirled on the nurse. " _You_." He glanced over at me with a questioning glance.

"Nurse McGuire was showing me a film of a home birth," I told him.

He exploded. "Rubbish! Utter voodoo nonsense! Louisa you can't seriously be considering this…" he waved his hand at the TV. "This… this…"

"Perfectly natural process?" McGuire blurted out. "One that the MALE medical profession has pooh-poohed for ages. Midwives were delivery babies for thousands of years, Doctor! Long before you knew which end of the patient the thermometer went into!" She sniffed and threw out her chest. "So there!"

Martin jabbed a finger at her face. "I can give you chapter and verse, as well as ANY number of medical papers how _unmonitored_ water births can injure BOTH babies and mothers. From water inhalation of the infant…" He ticked off on his fingers eight or nine birth or post-birth injuries, complications, or infections, of both mother _and_ baby.

Hearing each problem made me shiver.

"And in hospital there are resources to handle any unforeseen complications, thereby ensuring the best possible outcome," he finished with.

His finger then sprang back to point at her face like a lance. "Good GOD woman! This _is_ the twenty-first century! I will not…" he stopped for air. "Let you risk…" he lowered his hand and stared into the corner of the room. "No. I've said enough." He turned to go. "Louisa, we will discuss this later – well after this meddlesome _harpy_ is gone!"

He stared down at Molly. "As for you… when I return to this room, I expect you to be gone," he said to the nurse.

He whirled about and left us as I stood there, head spinning. How to tell her that Martin means well, always, no matter his rudeness.

Molly took back her DVD, slapped it into the case, and jammed it home in her bag. She threw back her head imperiously then wagged her head at me. "I can see darlin' that MAN has you under his thumb. Pity. Someday you may well rue the day that _you_ let _him_ tell you what to do! And likely, I'm thinkin', he will _ruin_ your life."

"No, it's not like that…"

She picked up her case. "I'm off. IF you can manage to pull yourself out of HIS clutches," she handed me her card, "call me." She paused at the door. "I will pray for you and that dear sweet babe about to be born."

Then I was alone, ears ringing from Martin's rebuke of her and the weird way she pronounced my doom like the Oracle of ancient Delphi.

 **Author's note:**

 **I am writing what Martin Christopher Ellingham would say about home births. Please send no criticisms to me!**


	70. Chapter 70

**Chapter 70 - What Others Think**

Bert assured me that he and mum had everything in order. I was concerned about what mum might do or say to get under my skin. I suppose we were strangers really from all the years of being apart. I did not really know her.

Martin saw me biting my lip for he said, "Don't go."

"I have to go. How it would look if I didn't? I know you don't care what others think but I do."

He recoiled. "I do care!"

"Right," I snapped. Like the way half the village called him tosser to his face, but I would always rebutt those remarks by reminding the speaker that he was a very good doctor.

"Louisa... I do my job; call things as I see them."

I looked sternly at him. "To your detriment."

He nodded. "Perhaps." He walked over to the window. "A lot of people are at Bert's. Look's like half the village."

"Let me see." He was right. "God." People were all over the road out there. "They came to see the heavily pregnant Head teacher, no doubt." I had dressed in a new purple dress. I looked down at my incredibly swollen belly and baps and sighed. "I look like an overripe grape about to pop. Or maybe a plum."

Martin grimaced. "Louisa you... you... look beautiful."

My spirits rose but I answered, "Don't feel that way."

He turned me sideways so we faced each other. "You do - you are. That is, I have always thought you were beautiful. And now..." he stroked my cheek. "Even more so."

He might be a tosser to some but to me... well you know. I stretched up to kiss him when the house phone started ringing along with my mobile.

"Blast!" Martin exclaimed. He stomped into reception. "Eliingham! Surgery is closed. No. No!" he yelled.

My call was mum. "Lou-lou. You coming? Everybody's here but you."

"About ready," I told her. I heard Martin makig more negative noises from the other room.

"Martin coming with you? I did invite him," mum added. "He sorta grows on you, you know?"

Martin slammed the phone down. "Idiot," he muttered.

"Mum," I said, "be there soon." I flipped the phone off and asked Martin, "Problem?"

He grimaced fiercely. "Mrs Motts says there are pixies trying to get into her house again."

"You must mean Katha Mutz. We call them piskies. Poor woman's husband is gone and she's alobe."

He waved his hand with irritation. "Whoever. And the man died, what? Two years ago?"

"Yes, about then. She has always believed in faeries and pixies though. Many of the old people do and Mrs Mutz must be 82 or 83."

He shook his head. "She also claims that they have been scaring her goats and giggling under her windows. Something about a broken flowerpot as well."

"She has been a bit fragile for some time. Poor dear. Wait!" I snapped my fingers. "Penhale!"

"What has PC Penhale got to do with her?"

"Martin, out here in Cornwall, piskies..."

"Superstitious claptrap..."

"Ahem, piskies do not play nasty tricks. I think you ought to call Joe Penhale. I bet you anything that somebody is skulking around her farm."

He looked concerned. "Really? You want me to call Penhale?"

"I must be right. Trust me."

His lip curled. "Likely a psychotic episode," he mumbled.

"All the same, she needs your help Martin."

He checked the time. "She lives way out. I... I don't know how long I may be."

"It's fine. Go help Mrs Mutz. If you get back in time... come to Bert's..."

"The shower, yes."

He walked into his office then came out carrying his medical bag and a small wrapped parcel. With lowered eyes he held the box out to me. "I bought you something."

"Oh... I don't know what to say."

He kissed me on the cheek. "You're... the mother of our son... just..." He shrugged.

I started to peel the paper away. "This _is_ a surprise."

He glanced down at his watch.

Taking the hint, I unwrapped it faster. The lid came away and I was looking at a silver spiral attached to a necklace. "It's very pretty. Thank you." I hugged him. "This is unexpected."

Martin nodded. "In some ancient cultures the spiral apparently was a symbol of eternity." He ducked his head. "Or perhaps a symbol of life itself."

"Martin I'm touched. Really." I kissed him full on the mouth, then tenderly wiped away my lipstick from his lips. "I care a lot about you and so do a lot of others. Don't you forget that."

He pulled out his mobile as he walked to the door. "I will remember you reminding me Louisa." He switched on his phone. "I'd better call Penhale."

"Right." I watched him dash out to his car and drive away, then I put the necklace around my neck, with the smooth silver medallion nestled just above my breasts. I rubbed the gleaming spiral with my fingers for a few seconds, then gathered my handbag and went out the door.


	71. Chapter 71

**Chapter 71 - Taking a Shower**

"Beady eyes, I always said. Too close together as well."

I winced as Mrs Robins said this to me.

Then the grocer added, "So I never trusted him. Not one bit." She shook her gray-streaked head.

"Didn't he properly diagnose and treat your diabetes? Fixed up your sinus infection too," I reminded her.

Her face fell. "Well maybe so," she answered. "But _beady eyes all_ the same."

I sighed for I didn't want to argue. Luckily mum swooped in and pryed me out of her clutches. "Now Lou-lou, here's some nice orange squash," she handed me a glassful. "If you don't mind, I need my daughter."

Mrs Robins smiled. "Right, Eleanor you can take her."

"Now what did she mean by that?" mum asked me when we moved away from her.

"Mrs Robins doesn't care for Martin," I told her.

Mum cackled. "That man of yours does get under eveybody's skin."

My hands automatically planted themselves on my widening hips. " _Oh?"_

Her face fell. "Maybe I shouldn't cut him down, you marrying him and all. But the man does have his off putting ways."

Prickles ran up my back. "I am going to, yes. Marry the off putting man, as you call him."

"And a horse could choke on the diamond you been flashin' on your finger." Mum shook her head. "Lou-lou, its just... I mean... only... I'm tryin' to say..."

I put my face close to hers. "I'm the one who has been living with him, pregnant by him, and yes Martin is _bloody_ difficult sometimes. But he's... Martin. And he's what I want and who I want, and I am getting very _cross_ with everybody sniping at him. Mum, of _all_ people you should know how words can _hurt._ " I took a quick swallow of the squash before I said more. Words of long ago came to my head from the times she and dad would argue. Then one or the other would leave the house and I would be treated to a recap of their fight. I was a little girl and I had to sit there listening both to the fight itself and the echo of it. I turned away from her and was nearly bowled over by Bert.

"Louisa Glasson, I swear you look prettier every day!" he exclaimed throwing an arm around my shoulders. "I hope you like the decorations." The restaurant terrace was draped with bunting and balloons, in an almost terrifying array. Bert tended to go overboard at times and this display was no different.

"They're... very... pretty," I told him to not hurt his feelings.

"Good, good. Yer mum thought I mighta gone a little heavy on the bunting and the ribbons." He looked tense as he spoke.

A wind gust blew up and a pink streamer tore loose and wrapped around my neck. I batted it away. "Very nice."

Bert relaxed and gave me a big smile. "There's quite a pile of gifts. Maybe you better get started."

There was a huge pile of boxes and gift bags. Wrappings were a combo of blue, pink, and yellow ribbons and paper for the sex of our baby was still a secret. Bert seated me on the bench at the end of the terrace and Martin's aunt plunked down holding a glass of cider.

She hugged me happily as she planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek. "Oh Louisa I am so thrilled for you and Martin."

"Thank you Joan." This was the woman who had helped me in so many ways and owed her. I leaned over towards her ear. "Joan, it's a boy," I whispered. "I want you to know."

Her lip quivered and tears began to flow.

"My mum doesn't know yet. Don't tell her."

Joan hugged me more tightly. "Oh Louisa, you're the daughter I never had... mmm... Phil and I tried, so hard. I'm so glad that you and Martin have decided to stick it out."

I patted her reddened old hand, worn by years of farm work. "I know. I know."

Mum planted herself at my other side. "My, my. What's this? Hearts and flowers time?"

"Joan was telling me about Phil, is all."

Mum smiled. "He was a good man, Joan Norton, was your Phil. Unlike my bugger."

My mouth gaped. "Not now. God, mum."

Her blue eyes flashed. "Louisa... I'm right, you know. Terry never could..."

"No mum. Not _now_."

But she kept it up. "Drank too much, could never hold a job more than a few months, and then there was all the gambling..."

"And you were perfect? At least Terry stayed! Unlike you, who ran away with Javier!" I snapped for her words hurt like taking a shower in ice water. I was 11 again and she was cutting down my dad, only it was 26 years later. "Seems to me Eleanor, it's far too easy for you to dump on dad, isn't it? You just don't get it! And you never will!"


	72. Chapter 72

**Chapter 72 – Bloody Hell**

Mum's smug nag about dad really set me off. Anger filled me and I told her what had bothered me for years. "And you were perfect? At least Terry stayed! Unlike you, who ran away with Javier?" I snapped for her words hurt like taking a shower in ice water. I was 11 years old again and she was cutting down my dad, only now it was 26 years later. "Seems to me Eleanor, it's far too easy for you to dump on dad, isn't it? You just don't get it! And you never will!"

She recoiled. "I… well, I did what I had to," she replied stuffily. "You have no idea what I went through."

I knew it was the wrong time and place but I went after her. " _Right_ ," I snapped. "Have you figured that you left your husband _and_ your daughter? The daughter who cried herself to sleep for weeks when you didn't come back? Good _Christ_ mum, I thought it was all my fault." I still felt it; like a cold knife in the guts, slowly twisting.

Her eyes filled up. "No, Lou-lou… I… Me and Terry were… rubbish."

I stared at my mother. "Why _did_ you come back to the village?"

"I come back for you! You wrote me a letter!"

"Mum, I wrote you lots of letters down the years. When you came back the first time I was 17 and your boyfriend kept putting his hands all over me!"

She flinched. "I said Javier died and…" she gulped. "And you never told me that! This time you said you were having a baby. My little girl gonna be a mum. Of course I came back to England!"

"And that's why you came back? This time?" I hissed. I noticed we had an audience. I sat up straighter. " _No_. Mum let's stop right here."

She took a gulp from her wine glass. "Lou-lou I… I am so sorry."

Joan nudged me. "Audience."

Most of the guests at the shower were standing frozen, staring at us, nudging one another, trying not to listen, but there it was. More of the dirt of the sad tale of the Glasson's out in the open. I looked several in the eye as I said, "And I'm not sayin' anything that nobody doesn't know."

Some nodded grimly and muttered agreement.

I looked at mum. "So," I took a deep breath. "Let's get on with the party shall we?" I ripped open a package and nursing pads fell into my lap. The perfect gift. It sucked.

Mum got to her feet and now she was crying. "Louisa, I am sorry for lots of things." She swiped at her wet eyes. "Now, I need the loo."

She walked away and the temperature dropped by several degrees.

Joan stared at mum's back as she wormed through the crowd, then patted my elbow. "What had to be said."

"Bad timing though," I whispered. I looked at the tag on the package I'd just opened. "Pippa, thank you."

Pippa bent down close to me. "I figure you'll get far too many teddy bears and such. These," she tipped her head at the nursing pads, "you'll be needin'. You said you would nurse. Believe me it's not as easy as them books make it out to be."

I hugged her. "Thanks."

A few more packages held clothes and toys, a stuffed toy whale, a tatty monkey, and a baby monitor. I told the gift givers thanks as I tried to stay composed. Just why did mum come back? For me? No, I think it was for her. She needed me, not the other way around. I suppose I still needed – no wanted – to have a mum and I don't know why I felt that.

The party got down to the cake phase, which was good and yummy. Good thing Martin wasn't here for he'd give us all the dickens about eating such fat and sugar-laden… God I was thinking like him! Eat more cake, Louisa, shake it off. Smile. Joke. Ooh-and-ah over the presents.

Joan interrupted my thoughts. "My nephew couldn't bother to come?"

I checked the time and it was two hours gone and he was still not here. The Muntz farm is pretty far out; far side of the moor. I explained Martin's absence.

"So, patients come first," she muttered.

"Well, I don't think he'd have much fun at a baby shower."

She sniffed. "Typical though. Thoughtless is that boy."

I touched the spiral pendant. "No, he's not."

She looked at what I was fingering. "The necklace new?"

"It's a gift from your nephew and I quite like it."

Joan inspected it. "Silver," she grunted.

"Yep."

"Then the tin man does have a heart."

Bert walked over carrying more sliced cake on a tray. "Ladies, there's plenty more cake, and we might as well eat it up. Here." He tried to hand me another piece on a paper plate.

"Thanks Bert, but I think I'm quite full."

He chuckled. "And a beautiful and pretty full mum at that." He winked meaningfully. Then he looked around. "Where's Eleanor gone to?"

Mrs. Crook answered him. "I saw her heading down the hill, Bert, and she didn't look happy."

I sighed and she heard it.

"Lousier, me and my mum were no different," she confided. "Same sorta thing, right? Happens."

"I know," I said.

Bert harrumphed. "And here I thought she'd do more than help me cook and bake. Well, let me pass out this cake and we'll get on. Right?" He toddled off with his tray.

Mrs. Crook smiled. "Got a baby name picked out? Boy or girl? From the way you been carrying I think boy." A wayward hand pressed my bump. "Big thing, ain't it? I musta gained three stone when I was carrying my babies!"

Joan grinned at that comment. Every woman here had shared their pregnancy, childbirth, and baby rearing stories with me and I hoped I'd not have nightmares over them.

I'd gained a bit but _not_ 42 pounds, luckily. I cleared my throat. "About names, have to see. Martin and I, uhm, we _do_ need to work on names."

Mrs. Crook chuckled. "Me and my hubby fought like cats and dogs about names. Finally picked out Eduard, Gemma, and Roland. 'Course those got turned into Eddie, Gem, and Rollie. You got to pick a name with a decent nickname. Am I right?'

No way would I name my baby boy Roland for I knew her Rollie in school and he'd turned out fat, so he got tagged with _Roly-poly_. Poor man. I smiled up at her. "You are right about that."

She nodded. "Yep. Knew it." Then she wandered off chasing after more cider.

I shook my head and said to Joan, "The things people say. I'm not about to advertise how much weight I've gained."

Joan cleared her throat. "I wonder where Eleanor went? Not that I want her to come back if she's going to make another scene."

I sighed. "Maybe went for a smoke. Look, Joan _I_ was the one who chewed her out - just couldn't stop myself."

Bert called for our attention, asked us to raise our glasses and proposed a toast. "I was hopin' Eleanor Glasson would help me with this but she appears to be busy at the moment, so here's to a very special lady - _Louisa Glasson_ \- and we all know how wavering she and the Doc been on this whole relationship thing. But they're back together now, and that makes all the difference. I'm not saying that men and women get along perfectly."

The female crowd laughed.

He laughed as well. "But it's more than just someone to warm the other side of the bed – somebody to be there when the chips are down; pick you up when it all goes south. Now as you all know, this being a baby shower, that Louisa and Martin are gonna have a young'un soon enough. Let's all wish the two of them a happy and safe birth and a fine baby boy or girl to raise up."

His words really touched me and I found my eyes filling up. "Oh, Bert, now you made me cry."

He looked concerned. "Laughter and tears, my lover. Sweetness and bitter. That's life." He raised his cider. "So a toast to Louisa and Martin and their baby. May they be happy and healthy! And all the luck in the world, because by God the two of them are gonna need it!"

When the food and drink were all gone, the shower ended, so Bert helped Joan carry most of the gifts back to the house. Martin wasn't home, and mum was not in sight. I looked around the front room and kitchen. "Thought she might have come here. Guess she's at the pub."

Bert wrinkled his nose. "She gets into moods; you know that. Yer mum about bit my head off the other day about prawns on a salad."

I sighed. "I had _hoped_ … well."

Joan rubbed my back. "Hope springs eternal girl."

Bert left us and in a flash my sadness turned into anger and just as quickly back to sadness. "Oh Joan, why in _bloody hell_ , didn't I keep my mouth shut? It was all years ago… but I'm… gonna have a baby… and when I saw her here…" I started sobbing. "I hoped she was _really_ here – for _me_!"

She hugged me and smoothed my hair. "You'll be fine, Louisa," she said over and over. "Just fine; like you always are and always have been."

"But why Joan? Why does Eleanor have to be that way?" My fingers twisted the damp towel I my hands; the one I used to wipe my streaming face. "And why can't _I_ forgive her?"

She stiffened. "We _all_ make mistakes. Lord knows I made mine and paid for it," she sighed.

"What'cha mean by that?"

"Nothing," she sighed. "Water under the bridge. Most concerned are gone, but for me. _Now_ , you haven't needed that woman for years, and you certainly don't need her now." Joan got up to leave because it was getting late and her animals had to be cared for. "I'll call you tomorrow," she told me. "Good night Louisa."

"'Nite Joan. Thanks for everything."

It was much later when Martin came in the house. He found me sitting at the kitchen table blubbering over a cold mug of tea and a half-eaten chocolate digestive (I'd found where Martin had hidden the biscuits). The clock read half-nine, and it was nearly dark. He kicked off his shoes at the door, set his medical bag down, and squished across the kitchen floor leaving muddy footprints from sodden socks.

He bent down and inspected me, no doubt seeing the wreck which I felt to be. "Louisa? Oh good God, what's wrong? Is the baby alright? And you?" His hand reached out to touch my forehead but withdrew when he noticed dirt on his fingers. "Now, tell me what happened. Was it your mother?"

That set me to crying once more.


	73. Chapter 73

**Chapter 73 – Parents**

Then hiccups started as I recounted what had happened at the shower, concentrating on the row I had with mum. Martin settled into a chair then handed me the kitchen roll during my recitation. I used many pieces wiping my streaming nose and damp eyes. Occasionally he pursed his lips to speak, but each time I would shush him. " _No_ , Martin _let_ me finish!"

Finally I got to the end of the tale. "Ah," he sighed heavily.

I frowned at him. " _Ah_?"

"What more is there to say? You must still be hoping for some sort of rapprochement with your mother. I on the other hand…" his voice faltered. "I gave that up long ago."

"So you don't think having a bond with your mother is worthwhile?"

"We're speaking about your mum, not mine," he grunted. "And no."

"No? No what?"

"No, Louisa I neither hope nor plan for any sort of _bond_ , as you say, with Margaret."

I knew he and his parents were on the outs. " _None_ at all."

He shook his head.

"Just like that."

He went to the sink, scrubbed his hands, dried them carefully and then filled the kettle and put it on the hob to heat.

"Oh, you've had no supper. Let me fix something."

He sighed. "Your Mrs. Coontz…"

"Mutz. Katha Mutz."

"Right. She… you were right. She'd been complaining to PC Penhale about the fairies at her place?"

"Piskies."

He waved a hand. "Whatever. Penhale had been out there once or twice and found nothing. But of course Joe couldn't find the nose on his face."

"What was happening to her?"

"Oh, the local teenagers thought it would be funny to let her goats escape, mess about with her garden things – a broken flower pot; that sort of thing. Then the cretins thought it would be brilliantly funny to start peeping into her windows while wearing masks. Idiots. Nearly scared the old girl to death! Her pulse was pounding and her blood pressure through the roof! Of course given that her diet is too fat and salt-laden that contributed as well."

"But how is the _old girl_ now?"

"Calmer. When I pointed out to her that her _piskies_ wore trainers and left bicycle tyre marks all through her planting beds she calmed down. Penhale took it upon himself to follow the tracks and found the fourteen-year-old perpetrators in a disused shed on the next property over. There they'd booze it up, and God knows what all! Joe scared them with the threat of jail. I don't think they'll bother her much anymore." He looked down at his besmeared trousers. "The inside of the house wasn't much better. I think she's become a hoarder."

"Who were they? These kids?"

"Oh, I don't know. Penhale knew them. Three or four boys. Two are identical twins – and they were none too clean."

" _Oh_ ," I snapped my fingers. "Ronny and Donny Rowe. _Right_. And I bet the other two were Teddy Davies and Billy Morgan." I crossed my arms. "Those four. Mighta known. That lot have been in trouble plenty of times. I'm just glad they are out of my school." Of course I knew about their backgrounds. "The downside is if the Rowe boy's da finds out he'll beat them black and blue."

The kettle began to sing and Martin took if off the burner. "So I can expect to see them in surgery? Wonderful." He sighed. "Penhale suggested to these troublemakers that he'd overlook their misdeeds if they pitched in to help Mrs. Noonan."

"Mutz. Honestly Martin. Names? You never get them right."

"Okay. Uhm, Mrs. Mutz clean up her holding. Piles of scrap everywhere, goats scrabbling about in the muck and the junk which had accumulated." He shuddered. "How can people live like that? In the middle of a tip?" he sighed. "As for the punishment, Mylow once christened it the Portwenn Effect. Softly, softly, Penhale called it."

"Better the carrot than the stick, right. And most of we Cornish are not well off. Even when Katha's husband was alive they never had any money. So that junk you saw on her place was part of her Harry's scrapyard business plus he fished."

He took out a mug for himself and looked at the tea things. "More?"

"Yes, please." I gave him my mug and he played mother. He even handed me two more chocolate biscuits. As I drank more tea I wondered about him and his mum so I had to ask. "Margaret?" I shook my head. "No?"

He stiffened. "No. She… uhm…" then he sighed. "My mother told me I was an unwanted child; a mistake."

" _Oh - my - God_. That…" I had to swallow bad words which came to mind. I hadn't met her but I knew I didn't like her, just from the way that he talked _around_ her. Now this. And she locked him under the stairs, that I knew. "Horrible woman." I put my arm around him and he withdrew an inch. "I'm so sorry, Martin."

It was a thunderbolt of understanding.

So much was revealed to me. His awkwardness about affection, his rudeness, and not quite understanding relationships. My baby kicked. If I hadn't gotten pregnant would we be together? My pregnancy drove me back here along with craving Martin. Was it because of having a baby or just needing him? I regarded his thick lips and hurt eyes. I pulled him tightly against me so he could feel the baby inside me; a solid figure which moved and stretched.

"Louisa, my trousers are quite dirty and I don't think that you…"

"Mar-tin, don't you go telling me how close I can to hold you. Or when!" I kissed his cheek, then his ear, and his lips. He didn't resist that. "That… _vile_ woman."

His large head nodded. "Now you know why I don't want to see her. She and dad will have nothing to do with our child. Over my dead body will they come here, ever."

Children needed love and at least I had my mum for eleven years, even if they were rocky. Martin… Martin had nothing from Margaret. "Joanie – your Aunt Joan?"

He sighed. "There was a time when I would pray and when I did, I'd pray that when I was here in the village – on their farm, that by some magic I would wake in the morning and they would be my mother and father. I must have been about six or seven."

I thought it was like that. "So you don't pray anymore?"

He shrugged. "No. Not much of a church goer."

I bobbed my head. "Me neither."

Martin rubbed my shoulders. "I am sorry I told you that. Too vile…" he gulped. "Too… And you came to up here to see me just after she said that to me. I feared I was quite offensive to you."

I thought back. "Danny Steel was here then."

Martin looked away. "The architect."

I took his chin and turned his face back towards mine. "Martin you don't need that woman and I don't need Eleanor. Sure I wanted her to actually make an effort to be – well be _something_ to me – not just the runaway mum that she actually is." I shook my head. "And maybe she's doing what she's able to, and it's just not very satisfactory."

He shrugged. "Pretty clear to me that having a child does not mean you will be a good parent. Lord knows you see all sorts. Good, bad, and in-between."

I smiled at him. "We just have to try and I bet that you and me, well, we can be head and shoulders over both the Glassons and the Ellinghams." I thought back to what Bert said in his toast. "Luck too. Lotsa' luck."

Martin bent his head to kiss my cheek and then my neck. "I should go wash up."

"You hungry?"

He shook his head no.

"For food?"

He shrugged.

"For anything else?"

He almost smiled. "You?"

"Full of cake, tea, and biscuits." I looked down at my belly. "And baby. Bigger every day."

"Ah."

He turned to go, but stopped and looked back. "Louisa?"

I was still shaking inside about the horror of growing up in a loveless house. No wonder they shipped him off to school. "Yes?"

He held out his hand to me and I took it. "What's this for?" His fingers laced with mine tightly.

He cleared his throat. "Uhm, let's make sure that this baby boy will have two parents – full time, right? Real ones?"

I smiled. "Oh God yes."

His fingers still held mine and his thumb stroked the back of my hand. "I... ought to go up and wash."

This poor awkward and damaged man; the man that I loved. I smiled at him once more then I ducked my head. "Shave as well."

He sighed. "You are…" he almost smiled. " _Persistent_."

"You need a cuddle, Martin, and so do I." I walked past him and pulled him along after me. "Come on then. Upstairs."


	74. Chapter 74

**Chapter 74 – Plans**

Next morning was a typical school morning, which meant I had far too many things to do, right up to lunch time. The clock read noon, but I decided to keep plowing through the emails I had to send, and then I'd take a look at what was piled up in the in-box.

I had my head down over my laptop, when I heard a familiar harrumph. Of course it was Martin. "Oh, you came to school," I said to him.

"I was nearby." He cleared his throat again. "Louisa, didn't we agree that you would work half days?"

"Yeah, yeah, I did – _we_ did," I sighed. "But…" I waved my hand over my messy desktop, "what about all this? I must get some of it done."

He came close and examined the computer screen. "Done typing this email?"

"Yes." I pressed the Send key and it went.

"Good," he said and snapped the cover closed. "Now, it is now well past noon, it is your lunchtime, you have worked your morning for the day, and you are now leaving." He took my elbow and helped me stand. "Now, let's go."

"Martin, look, I'm sitting down, or I _was_ , and I wasn't exerting myself."

"No. Come. You're done. Have you eaten?"

"No. Was gonna…"

He picked up my handbag and hobo bag. "These come as well?"

"Yeah," I sighed in submission. "Guess you're right." But I scooped up the laptop. "For later."

"Humped," he grunted. And pointed down at my puffy ankles. "You need a lie down this afternoon. Elevate those limbs."

I meekly followed the medico and waved to Sally who sat hunched over a sandwich and a bowl soup on her desk. "Looks like I'm done for the day," I told her.

She smiled. "Better pay attention to the Doc, Louisa. He knows you… better than… well, see you tomorrow. Bye then."

"Bye, Sally."

Martin practically carried me outside to his car. "Oh, a lift as well. Nice." His car was pointing uphill.

He tucked me into the car, snapped the seat harness on me, closed the door firmly, then put my hobo bag and computer in the boot.

"What's that for?" I asked him, but he ducked his head, avoiding the question.

He slid in behind the wheel, buckled his harness, and started to drive. "I…we… uhm, the…"

I waved to villagers as we travelled to the top of the village. "Aren't you going to turn around? The house is back the other way?" I saw how tightly he gripped the wheel.

"Ahm, I imagine you might enjoy a drive."

"But _you_ have practice this afternoon. You always do."

"I cancelled my patients."

"They musta loved that."

It was a fine day, blue sky, a few clouds, quite warm actually, and I rolled the window a bit to get some air. Martin increased the cabin airflow, which I appreciated. "So what's up?"

He ducked his head once more.

I reached over and touched the fine hairs on his neck above his shirt collar. "What's this about?"

"You haven't had lunch. We can go into Bodmin and have it there."

"There is a nice café there. You know the one I like."

He nodded. "Yes."

"Bodmin's quite a way, you know. Sure you want to do this?"

He turned his head slightly. "I thought we might… that is… you don't have to… but after last night… your mum… the thing. So I thought…" his faltering voice petered out.

"What's this about my mum?"

"You and me, Louisa, and this baby," he nodded at my vast belly, "and you've agreed we ought to marry."

I pulled my hand down to my former lap and began to fiddle with my rings. "Yeah," I said cautiously as I wound his grandmother's ring around my finger. "And?" The clouds parted overhead and the sunlight dazzled me for a moment. "Come on."

"Registry," he grunted. "The nearest Register Office is in Bodmin. I checked. We can file a marriage notice today. The cost is only £35."

My breath caught for a few seconds. "Ah."

"We can't legally marry for 28 days, after we've registered."

"Sorta sudden."

He pulled the car to the verge at a layby and shut off the engine. "Not sudden. If we are to be parents, then we should get married. Start the process at least."

"The _process_? Sounds very clinical." About what I expected from Doc Martin – but he was my Martin – all mine.

He sighed, "Louisa, I just think that given what we agreed to, recently, parents and all that…"

"Being parents, right. Don't need a piece of paper and a man in black for that."

He furrowed his brow for a moment. "Man in black? Oh, you mean a minister."

I looked around at the moor, grass blowing in the breeze out of the west, fleecy clouds up there, Brown Willie and Rough Tor standing tall ahead of us, while three ponies ran up a hillock left side of the road, and the sun was warm on my face and chest. Martin didn't say anything and for that I was grateful. Register – announce to the world that we would get married. It gave me pause. Were we just playing at house? Was that all it was? Well this belly of mine says that something had been going on; at least once. Quite a few times actually.

Martin sat next to me like a stone, his face having a look I knew too well; the look of imminent disappointment.

What about me? I'd said the words, told him I loved him, and I did, but… get a marriage register? Get a date down the road – that someday we'd marry.

"O - kay," I told him hesitantly.

He sighed in obvious relief. "I imagine you will want a large ceremony."

"No, not really, oophh." The baby kicked me for emphasis somewhere in the diaphragm. "I'm not exactly in any shape for a white dress and a veil," I laughed ruefully. "We can just have a simple ceremony, if's that what you want."

He looked concerned at my outburst. "You alright over there?"

"I'm fine Martin." Perfectly fine. Although I sure wished I'd used the loo before I left the school.

"Good. The Vicar can oblige us I am sure. He's made any number of hints when I've seen him at the co-op market or the fish sellers."

"You mentioned the Vicar? I thought you didn't like him."

"Oh… he… well. The man has his uses, I suppose."

"He's available."

Martin sighed. "The man accosted me in the post office yesterday and winking and nodding at me said once more that he was available, _when_ we wanted him." He cleared his throat. "As if there was any doubt about an _if_!"

"We did disappoint the whole village. Once."

"None of their business whether we married or not!" he fairly exploded.

"But we didn't and this happened." I sighed and wiped an eye. I felt embarrassed about getting pregnant out of wedlock. But if I wasn't pregnant would I have come back to the village? I took his hand and pressed it against my belly. "But he's here, right here, nearly. And I would not give him, or you, up for the world. It just happened."

He nodded.

"You had this all planned out, don't you?" I said.

"No, it's just that, look," he nearly turned beet red in the face. "We are engaged, Louisa," he whispered. "Is there any good time?"

"Why now?"

His lips were pressed together. "Enough that we…" his hand waved over me, "got pregnant first."

"BAD?" I nearly hit him. "That what you mean?"

"Louisa, the fact of the matter is that we did, uhm, engage… in… relations and yes you are pregnant."

"Glad you noticed," I said in a huff. I stared straight ahead just waiting for another false step. "MAR-TIN, must you put it so…. So…. UGH! You make it sound so… very… crude! Like we were teenagers or something! Sneaking out of windows on dark nights! GOD!"

He ducked his head. "I seem to recall a certain amount of sneaking about a few mornings."

That made me laugh. "But Dave the Postie caught us, didn't he? That first morning after. Not much of a secret that Doc Martin and the Head Teacher had had a bonk. _Relations_ as you said." I leaned over to kiss him, which he allowed. "Fine, right, yes, let's do it."

"What?"

"Go on. Drive to Bodmin. Let's get registered."

"You mean that?" he said, his face showing a sign of hope.

"I do. We'll have to invite your aunt; both of them. Joan and Ruth."

"Ah. Right."


	75. Chapter 75

**Chapter 75 – Speaking of aunts**

We drove in silence for half the way back to Portwenn until Martin said, "You are very quiet."

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"Oh, things."

"Things?"

"You, me, and the fact we just registered to be married. Bit of a shock I suppose."

He snorted. "Louisa, we did agree to do this."

"Yes, I know. Just a rather Rubicon* moment, don't you think?" I looked over at him and smiled.

"Not the same as Julius."

I chuckled. "Our baby is gonna tie us together anyway. Might as well be married."

"Might as well? That all?"

"No, Martin, sorry." I kissed my palm and pressed it against his cheek. "There. Sorry Martin, it's just my parents and yours were rubbish and I guess – well – I'm concerned."

"Louisa, don't worry."

"But I do worry." I knew that he worried, or at least got concerned. I patted his thigh. "I'll try to put it out of my mind."

"Louisa, you just have to think that we will be better than our forebears. Work on it."

"Right. Now, let's get back to our village."

He winced. "Portwenn is your village, Louisa. Your home. If we're to live there it stands to reason that we complete our wedding plans."

"But it's not your village. Still not after three years, is it?"

He wrinkled his nose. "It smells."

"What?"

"The village. Of fish and blocked drains and gulls. And it's old."

"It is in the Domesday Book** about. So yes it is _old_ ," I huffed.

He sniffed. "And the people speak in the most awful accents."

I felt my face flush. "Oh, so you don't like the way I talk? I'm Cornish, and your son will be half Cornish!"

He closed his mouth. "I was not criticizing, merely stating a fact. But Portwenn isn't London. The closest theater is way over in Bodmin, there's a tiny airport down in Newquay, and that…" he stopped. "Miles away."

"Now you're running down my village."

"Louisa… I am just commenting that Portwenn is very small, is all."

"Yes, but you can see everyone, know everyone, in the shops, in the streets. Not a megalopolis, no. The people I know from school and their parents, are all born here. And it's not like you go to the theater every night, Martin, nor mention that you want to. Do you? And you can cross the street without getting run over like London."

He harrumphed but stayed silent.

"But you don't like Portwenn?" I picked on him.

He sighed. "Hygiene is lacking, and the residents have an _unerring_ habit of catching any disease that comes within a _five mile radius_. They spread contagion like a bush fire!"

I crossed my arms. "It keeps you busy, doesn't it? Putting out those bush fires."

He shook his head. "Basic cleaning habits… are lacking."

"Yes Martin. They ought to wash their hands more often."

He nodded. "That would be a start."

"You'd rather be back in surgery."

He groaned.

"You must miss it."

"I won't do that anymore in my career." He looked over at me and his voice got softer. "Louisa, you're here, in Portwenn, and it's where I want to be."

"Oh, so there are _some_ compensations to living in Cornwall," I chuckled.

He nearly smiled. "A few, yes. So if you have concerns about marrying… me, well… I just wanted… and I've never been married."

I hugged his elbow. "Me neither."

My attention was drawn from him to a car ahead of us stopped on the road verge. The bonnet was open. A lanky older woman was bent over inspecting the works. She rose then kicked at a tyre in disgust as she turned to face us. She waved her arms as we drove closer.

"A breakdown. I think she needs help," I said. "Pull over. Miles from anywhere."

"Oh God," Martin mumbled. "Now we _must_ provide roadside service as well." He slowed the car and the woman walked towards us. "Probably a tourist who forgot to buy petrol."

The woman raised a hand to her eyes and squinted. "She sees us," I said.

"Is it?" Martin muttered. "Ruth."

"Who?"

He braked the car to a halt, opened his door, took three steps and embraced the woman.

I was astonished to see the woman's face break into a smile as she threw her arms around Martin. " _Ruth_? Oh my god."

I clumsily climbed out of the car as Martin brought her over to me. I tried to brush creases from my skirt and twisted my sweater so it sat straight on my shoulders.

Martin stiffly said, "Louisa, this is Dr. Ruth Ellingham, my aunt. Aunt Ruth, this is Louisa Glasson, my, uhm… my…"

She had a crooked grin on her wrinkled face, her hair was straight and light grey, and her eyes were a light blue. She was nearly as tall as me, and the family Ellingham resemblance was remarkable.

Ruth looked me up and down. "You're the school teacher Joanie's going on and on about. How do you do?" She held out a limp hand and I shook it. "Pleased and all that."

"Nice to meet you," I said and meant it. "And we spoke on the phone."

She nodded. "Blasted car's got a leak. Radiator I think. But God knows could be anything." She held up her mobile. "The mobile service here about is rubbish," she said. She looked around at the moor. "My I'd forgotten how barren it can be out here. Lucky me you happened along."

Martin coughed. "Ruth I had no idea you were coming."

"I actually came to see Joanie, but I can be persuaded to spend time with you and Miss Glasson."

"Call me Louisa."

She grinned. "Right. Now Martin you can get my case from the boot then can take me to Joan's."

He dipped his head. "Yes."

Ruth glanced at my left hand. "I see you're wearing my mother's ring."

"Martin… Yes, yes I am."

She patted my arm. "Good for you. Now Martin if you would, get my case."

 **Notes:**

 *** Rubicon – In 49 BC Julius (later Caesar) marched an army south towards Rome and crossed the Rubicon (name of a small river). At that point 'the die was cast' and he swept into the city in defiance of the Roman Senate. 'Crossing the Rubicon' means to press forward – no going backwards.**

 **** Domesday Book – A land record book in England, the creation of which was ordered by William the Conqueror in 1086 AD. A manor house north of Newquay was listed in 1087. Not quite Port Isaac (Portwenn) but close.**


	76. Chapter 76

**Chapter 76 – Shells**

"You'll stay to supper," Joan Norton said to me and Martin after greeting her slender sister outside her farmhouse. "So glad you've come, Ruth." She was holding her sister close and seeing the plump Joan hug her skinny sister was an interesting example of contrasts.

"Don't go to any trouble for us Aunt Joan," Martin muttered.

"Oh pish," Joan retorted but smiled anyway. "Any excuse to get you here is a good one. And seeing us all together at once? Priceless."

The Ellingham girls looked at us as one. "And here we are," snorted Ruth. "Not exactly the quiet dinner party you had planned Joanie."

I had never heard anyone call Joan Norton Joanie, before. Right then I knew this evening would be interesting.

Martin peered down at his watch.

"Going somewhere?" Ruth asked with a bemused expression.

"No, but I have some work to do…" he replied.

"What Martin means is that he has a stack of medical journals to read," I added. "We'd be delighted to stay, right?"

His face went blank. "As you wish."

"Mar- _Tin_ ," I whispered so only he could hear, "how often to you get to see both your aunts at the same time? So be _nice_."

"Louisa, it's _not_ about being nice…"

"Yes, it is," I stressed to him.

"Yes," he snapped. "Fine." He looked at his aunts. "We'll stay."

Joan pulled us all in to the farmhouse.

Ruth Ellingham looked around the kitchen. "I see you've painted since I was here last."

"Brightens the room up, don't you think?" Joan replied.

Ruth nodded. "Yes, clinical but clean. At the prison all the walls are painted the most ghastly green. I think the paint alone that drives my patients mad, or more so. One of those pea-soup green shades that practically shouts out _'I am in an institution.'_ " She wrapped her arms around her thin chest and shuddered. "I believe it's the same paint they used back at our old school, Joanie."

"St Andrew's School," Joan laughed. "Oh good Lord. I remember that. Vomit green." She chuckled further.

I nodded thinking of the school district paint supply. Five years ago it was all green, then they switched to beige and white thank heavens.

Joan shook herself. "Enough about paint, right? I didn't think I'd be having this many guests, Ruth, but my chicken hot-pot, along with a salad, and bread will sustain us." She looked down at Ruth's wheelie case. "Martin, you can take that up to your old room. Don't worry Ruth! I cleaned Marty's shell, stone, and driftwood collection out ages ago." She caught my eye. "Louisa, he was quite the collector. Bags of stuff. None of which he ever took home."

I raised an eyebrow and took his arm. "You were a beachcomber?"

He coughed. "Hardly."

Ruth was grinning at him.

"What?" he asked her.

"I still have that seashell you gave me at Christmas, Martin," Ruth answered. "You must have barely been six."

Martin got a puzzled look. "What does it look like?"

"A couple inches long, pointed on one end of course, and it's a spiral shape."

"Six and a half," he replied. "That specimen is an _Epitonium clathrus."_

"Yes," Ruth said, "that's what you told me that Christmas; name and all."

Martin nodded. "I'll take your bag up to your room." He picked up Ruth's small suitcase and with long strides climbed the stairs.

I was startled. "Latin? At age six?"

Ruth nodded. "Quite precocious was Martin. My father was a firm believer in starting an education early. He'd pull his human anatomy books down and drill us when we were young. I suppose he did the same with his grandson."

Joan cleared her throat. "You and Christopher took to those. I'd wander away and be out with the gardener or the cook. That was of far more interest to me than long Latin words."

"You never were one for the books." Ruth smiled. "But to each their own."

"Better check the Aga," Joan answered her, and then she left me alone with Ruth.

"So, Louisa."

"Yes?"

Ruth nodded at my inflated belly. "A boy."

"Yes."

Ruth grinned crookedly. "I suspect you'll be expected to give it – sorry the _child_ – some fancy name. I imagine Martin will be pushing for his grandfather's name: Henry."

"We… well we haven't really talked about it. Not Christopher though."

Ruth grimaced. "No. Martin would definitely not go for that. Do you have any ideas?"

"Well my grandfather was a postman. James Glasson."

"Your father's name is, or was?"

"Terry - still living - and my mum is Eleanor. She's up from Spain just now."

"Hm. Spain."

"Yeah, she…" How to explain?

Martin came back into the room from upstairs. "The seashell, as I said, was the E _pitonium clathrus_ – the common wentletrap. They are deep-water species but wash up frequently on the coast."

Ruth winked at me. "See? Precocious."

I took his arm. "What other sorts of things did you collect?"

"I fancied he'd grow up to be a naturalist," Joan called out from the kitchen. She appeared in the front room door wiping her hands on a towel. "He always came back to the house with pockets stuffed with all sorts of things. Dead birds, grass, bits of this and that. Now, the hot-pot will be ready in ten minutes. Louisa, perhaps you can help me set table?"

"Of course Joan." I dropped Martin's arm. "I'll go help her."

"Right," Martin said as he looked curiously at his Aunt Ruth.

The two eyed each other and I wondered what was going through their Ellingham heads.


	77. Chapter 77

**Chapter 77 – Mine**

When I got out to the kitchen I picked up the tableware we'd need and turned to see Joan cocking an ear at the door to the front room, where a low mutter told me Ruth was talking with Martin. "They're very alike aren't they?" I said to her. "Almost like siblings."

"Humph. If I didn't know that Ruth was my sister I'd agree with you. But yes, they have many similar ways." She went to the counter and began to slice a loaf of bakery bread. "Martin's always been very scientific and Ruth – well she's spent years listening to the criminally insane." She sniffed. "At times when we speak on the phone I'm almost afraid to open my mouth. Lord knows what she's thinking about what I'm saying. Very cerebral those two."

"Martin times his tea brewing to the second, depending upon the kind of tea, so yes I know all that." I sidled over to Joan and lowered my voice. "She seems…"

"Oh yes my dear, she is."

"But I haven't said anything."

Joan smiled and patted my hand. "You're right whatever it is."

I carried the tableware and napkins out to Joanie's large dining table and as I went through the door, I heard Ruth saying, "Surely you _must_ understand my concerns. Are you certain about all this?"

He answered her abruptly, "It's not like that at all! Oh! Louisa's here."

I started laying out the place settings. "I thought my ears were burning."

Ruth nodded. "I was speaking about you Louisa. You must find it difficult to be both Head Teacher and mother-to-be, as well as dealing with my nephew."

I tried to put on a brave face. I supposed she thought I was about the stage for _confinement_ , as they did in the old days. "Oh you know. I… we, the both of us, muddle through. Being pregnant isn't incapacitating. Right Martin?"

"Yes," he reacted. "Ruth, Louisa is working half days just now."

"But you'll go straight back to work after summer holiday?" Ruth asked me.

"Yes," I told her. "Have to get a child-minder of course."

"I see," the old woman muttered.

I tried to restrain myself but they came out anyway. "You _see_. Good for you. Just what is that _you_ do see?"

She nearly smirked. "Calm down my dear. Don't get your back up. I was only saying…"

Joan pushed past me carrying plates and a large bowl of salad. "Has my sister been badgering you Louisa? Don't you let her," she said. "She used to drive me to tears, you know –the way she'd get under my skin. So stop it Ruth. Dinner is nearly ready. Now, what to drink? Martin? Water for you of course. Ruth? I have some red if you must have fruit of the vine."

"Alright, red wine sounds fine to me," Ruth told her. "Sorry Louisa, my questions were only to discern what your plans are. I'm not being judgmental, merely trying to know the facts. Can we call a truce?"

I relaxed at her words. "Yes, thank you. Accepted."

Ruth turned to her sister and gave her a crooked grin. "And when we were kids that was just teasing."

"Humph, so you say," Joan grumbled.

During our exchange my husband-to-be looked like he was sucking on a lemon. He tilted his head at an odd angle as he stood up. "I'll open the wine for you Joan," he said and scuttled into the kitchen with aunt Joan trailing.

I sighed but tried to smile at Ruth. "So I _will_ go back to work and we will have a child-minder."

"Not a nanny? I know that sounds old fashioned but some of my co-workers use them. Poor girls get hauled here from Spain, Brazil, or India. I don't mind it. Their business. But it seems to me that a child ought to spend some time with their parents. Farming the kiddies off to a virtual stranger 24/7 doesn't sit well with me."

Something we could agree on at least. "Me neither. Plenty of women looking for work in the village."

Ruth nodded towards the kitchen. "Martin had a nanny – a whole series of them. I don't think any of them lasted more than a year or two." She sniffed. "But my brother and his wife were not easy to work for, I'm sure, let alone be related to. Christopher…" she stopped. "You can imagine."

"I'd heard a bit about that – from Martin. I gather…"

She finished my sentence "They weren't very nice – his parents – and my brother chased after anything if it was young, firm, and in skirts."

I busied myself arranging silverware and napkins then setting the plates to rights. I suspected as much from what Martin had told me and from comments about the village about his dad. Martin never acted like that, thank God.

Ruth stood up from the faded blue sofa and began to walk about the room. "Yes, about jobs hereabouts," Ruth answered. "No offices or large corporations, are there? Fishing, beach combing, and farming – that's about it. I expect you can find someone to care for the child."

"And holiday makers. Plenty of those. I can't believe how many of the houses have been bought up by Londoners," I said sadly. "Not like when I grew up here."

"Money always wins out, Louisa," Ruth responded. "And the little people get stepped on."

"Except the little people, as _you_ call them, are my friends and are people I've known all my life."

She held up a hand. "Wait, I'm not putting them down, my dear. Times change is all."

The way she said it I believed her. "Good, for they are hardworking; most of them."

She smiled. "You have to forgive an old woman. I speak my mind, usually. But they keep cutting down the fishing quotas don't they? I've read about that. And the old quarry is shuttered."

I nodded at her. "There used to be five times as many boats in the harbor. Now just a handful – and they don't go out year round. My dad fished for a time. And the miners?" I shrugged. "That's done."

"Tell me about your father. Terry, you said his name is? And you said your mother has been down to Spain."

A mine pit yawned menacingly with her innocent question. "Yes. He's away just now," I told her shakily. "But… mum's… staying in the village at the moment."

Joan came back to us carrying a casserole dish between mitten-garbed hands. "Make way! Hot," she shouted. She put the bubbling and savory dish on a ceramic trivet and peeled the kitchen mitts from her hands. "Marty? Are you done mucking about with that corkscrew? Come in here; let's eat."

She turned to her sister and then to me. "Oh good Lord," she muttered. "What has my old bat of a sister been saying to you Louisa?"

Ruth stuck out her tongue at Joan, who returned the gesture.

Joan asked me, "You do look rather stricken."

I was biting my lip when Martin came through carrying a tray of glasses. "What's going on?" he asked.

All I could do was to chomp my lip all the harder.

 **Author's note:**

 _Confinement_ – In less enlightened time, pregnant women were confined to their bed for the last month before delivery, as well as after the baby was born.


	78. Chapter 78

**Chapter 78 – Bones**

I took a deep breath and said, "My dad, he's…"

" _Away_ ," Martin interrupted. "Louisa, you don't have to say any more."

"Expect him back anytime soon?" Ruth asked innocently.

"No," I answered. I mentally ticked off the months and years. "He ought to be, that is, if…"

"Louisa's father is…" Martin cocked his head to the side. "Unable to be in Cornwall at present."

I caught Joan's eye and I saw her lip was quivering. "That's not important now, is it?" Joan threw out. "Let's eat." She began to dish out the steaming and savory smelling chicken dish, laced with peas and carrots, in a cream base over noodles. "Sit down all of you. Martin you sit on the end, Louisa you can sit on his right. Ruth you're stuck next to me."

I nodded. Better to let it lie then, I thought. Martin pulled out my chair and helped me to sit. It would be four years or more until Terry was released from jail.

Joan passed the filled plates to all of us and shoved the salad bowl my direction. "Grace?" She folded her hands.

Martin was caught holding his fork, which he slowly lowered back to the table.

Joan beamed at her guests. "This is nice. Now, Lord, bless this food and these people. Thank you for bringing us together. Amen."

Martin began to eat.

His Aunt Ruth grinned at him. "Not one for church still, Martin?"

"Me neither," I replied for him. "Not much anyway."

Ruth sighed. "Martin's parents weren't much for it either. Didn't Nanny Jane take you on Sundays Martin?"

Martin sipped from his water and dabbed his lips with his table lined. "She did yes."

"Did you have many nannies?" I asked him.

Martin sighed. "Several. Until I started boarding school."

"And when was that?"

"Seven."

"They sent you away at seven?"

"Seven and a half actually." He busied himself buttering a piece of bread.

I looked across at his Aunt Ruth who shrugged as she looked back at me.

"Don't look at me," she said. "My brother and sister-in-law weren't keen on having Martin in the house."

"I know that," I told her.

Martin cleared his throat. "I enjoyed school."

"You were bullied," Joan replied angrily. "Terribly."

Martin cocked his head in the way which I interpreted as meaning 'I am uncomfortable.' "I enjoyed the education," he said unemotionally.

Joan and Ruth cast quick glances at one another and in a wealth of information that said to me. 'No, Martin had _not_ enjoyed school.' "But you spent summers down here," I said to soften the moment.

"And holidays," Martin responded with a sigh. "Until I was eleven."

"Gathering shells and bird's feathers."

He looked at me plainly. "I have always been interested in biology."

"And hence you became a doctor," Ruth added. "But of course my father and yours, Martin, would not have let you become anything else."

"It's what I am good at."

Ruth gave me a crooked smile. "Take me for instance. I had to fight my father to get him to let me apply to medical school." In a gruff voice she said next, "Girls are nurses, NOT doctors. Waste of bloody time." She switched back to her normal voice. "I can still hear him say that."

Joan touched my elbow and I looked at her. "Sorry about all this… stuff." She rapped on the table with her knuckles. "Enough, you two. No more digging up skeletons."

Ruth bit savagely into a chunk of bread. "But I showed him. Grand-mama gave me enough money so I didn't need to rely on the old man for my bread and board. Humph."

We all have skeletons in the closet, so I decided to lay bare a few bones of my own. "Ruth, when you asked about my mum and dad…"

Martin held a warning finger up at me and waved it with a stricken look to his face, but I went ahead anyway. "You see Ruth, Terry, my dad, wasn't always able to follow the law."

She nodded. "Go on."

"He stole money, and I don't know what all else. He spent some time in jail when I was seven, and later, and more recently he's up at Long Lartin, in Worcestershire."

Ruth set her silverware down. "Do you want to talk about it? Seems you do."

"No, not really. And Eleanor, my mum? She left me and dad when I was eleven, nearly twelve." I sighed. "She moved to Spain."

Ruth steepled her fingers together over her plate. "And yet you became a teacher – now Head Teacher – with all that? Good for you. Could not have been easy."

"A bright girl," commented Joan.

Martin sighed. "Brilliant, actually," he said softly and I felt his knee press against mine under the table.

"So there, you have it," I said softly. "Off my chest." I looked at Martin and smiled. "Warts and all, here I am."

Martin looked at me closely. "Your complexion is flawless."

Ruth and Joan burst into laughter and I laughed along with them.

Poor Martin sat there with a mystified look. "What?" he muttered.

 **Author's Note:**

 **Long Lartin is an Her Majesty's prison for adult males of 'A' category in South Littleton, Worcestershire. Possessing or supplying explosives is a category 'A' offense. See the DM Series 2 episode 'On The Edge'.**


	79. Chapter 79

**Chapter 79 – Reasons**

Martin drove his car expertly as always, but this time he used jerking motions, a clear sign he was bothered. We were only a minute on our way after leaving Joan's house. The air in the car had turned from a warm family-dinner-feeling into a frosty winter morning.

"I'm sorry I laughed," I said to him.

His large head nodded slightly. "Right."

"It was… you know."

"No, I don't."

"Amusing. And why did you fly off the handle when Buddy ran into the house? He does live with her."

He practically exploded. "Filthy animal! He's likely carrying any number of germs and contagions, and God knows where he's been! And there you were running your hands through his fur! Don't you know that canines are loath to roll in any kind of filth that find? Mud, feces, a dead animal…"

I held up my hands in surrender. "Enough! I get it. You don't like dogs."

"And if you get sick and the baby as well? I'm concerned for your health Louisa, and for my aunt's. Did you notice Joan seemed a bit breathless at times?"

"Not really."

"Plus I noticed a faint tinge of blue at the base of her fingernails."

I sighed at him.

"What?" he asked. "Cannot I make a medical inquiry?"

"Yes you can Martin. You're _allowed_ to do that."

"And it _is_ my job," he added stiffly.

"Well if you're concerned about Joan's health, schedule an appointment for her. Don't get all tetchy with me about it."

"She's seventy-four and she's worked hard her whole life. Feeding animals, driving tractors, and all that."

"Your Aunt Ruth looks fairly well preserved."

"She is two years younger than Joan."

"And a sharp mind it seems."

Martin nodded. "She is in the top of her field; an expert of causes of the criminally insane. I wonder how much longer she will stay working?"

I chuckled and Martin glared at me. "Sorry, just wondering how much diagnosing she'll be doing while walking up and down the hills of Portwenn. Not all the residents have all their marbles."

He blew air from his nose and I took that for agreement. The village has plenty of odd characters about. Take Mr. Tinkle the painter who only paints in shades of gray and black paint, since he lost his color vision after a car accident. The man is as sane as I am, but his art is very dark. Or Mrs. Pargeter the batty widow who thinks her husband is away in Indochina, though he's been dead for thirty-five years. And then there's Joe Penhale who seems to be getting more anxious every day. "Better keep her away from Joe," I said.

"Why? What has our constable been up to?"

"The other day I came out of school and he was waiting for me. To provide _escort_ as he put it. Said the seagulls were especially lively that day and he didn't want me to be bothered by them."

Martin nodded. "Gulls and some birds of prey have been known to attack people."

I smiled. "Joe was being sweet but I do think he's lonely. Kept asking about you. How were you taking the baby coming? Did I think you'd mind if he came up for a chat; that sort of thing."

"None of his business," Martin muttered. "And he is a bit daft."

"I know that. But Joe is caring in his way. Chivalrous. He's alright really."

"Hm. It's true there's not much for him to do in Portwenn – beyond writing the odd parking ticket and acting important as he struts around."

That was true for Portwenn was very peaceful. "One of the reasons that people come down for the holidays. Quiet." Except for when Terry and his friend Jonathan came to town. Boom. The car drove along a few more miles in silence. The baby was kicking me and I took Martin's left hand and put it on my belly so he could feel it. "He's moving."

He sighed. "Must be… awkward… have that going on inside."

"Just a sign that he's doing fine in there. But boy when they _say carrying the baby_ they mean it." A little foot kicked my right side and it took my breath away. "Owww."

"What!" Martin exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Martin." I rubbed the spot below my ribcage. I rubbed his hand slowly. "I wish you… this will sound odd… but you could feel this… like I do, for once."

"Louisa, men cannot have babies."

"Oh God. Not what I meant. I mean… you know. It's almost a blessed thing."

"Blessed event?" he asked snarkily. "I'm not certain your friend the Vicar would call it that."

"No, no. I mean, you and me, we're gonna have this baby. And he's nearly here." I shook my head. "You don't understand at all, do you? We made a new person, Martin, you and me."

Martin shook his head. "I know that maternal hormones are…"

"Don't _you_ call me _hormonal_!" I shouted. "You try doing this for eight months, having to wee every five minutes, an aching back, stretch marks, a sticky out belly button, God knows if I'll ever get my figure back, the town giggly-girl pack snigger every time they see me, and my nipples are so sore…"

"Stop," he replied. "I apologize." He looked at me. "I do. And I am regretful for all the discomfort you are feeling and have felt."

I stared into his eyes and saw the concern there. "Thank you Martin."

"I'm merely expressing concern for your condition."

I patted his hand and shifted a bit for the kicking had stopped. "Maybe the next time will be easier."

"NEXT TIME!" He twitched the wheel and nearly ran us off the road.

"Whoa, whoa. Steady Martin. Yes next time, if we get lucky. When the time is right."

He sighed deeply. "Ahm... how many children do you plan on having?"

"Oh, I don't know. Five, or six, when I find the right man."

He stared at me for a moment. "Now you're winding me up."

I smiled at him. "Teeny bit."

An elbow or knee poked me down there and I scrunched around in the seat again. "Just getting a bit squished down there and he wants out." A few weeks is all. "After Harbor Day."

Martin shook his head. "No doubt you will want to attend the fair." He shuddered.

"If I can, yes."

"Greasy foods, a carousel that's rickety and unsafe, god-awful handicrafts…"

"Might be a pirate or two about as well," I teased.

He looked over at me and I swear he almost smiled. "I recall _one_ in particular." He cleared his throat. "Her parrot was missing though. It must have flown away."

"You made a joke Martin. Very good."

"As I recall the pirate was rather fetching."

I ran my hand across his neck and rubbed his hairline. "Thank you Martin. But you poor thing. That was an awful day for you."

He nodded gravely, so I laughed. "Let's hope there are no dustups."

He grimaced. "Oh God. Why did you remind me of that?"

"Sorry. The day when our new GP had to treat his own broken nose."

"That was the next day," he replied. "When I tried to be a peacemaker. So much for that," he grumped.

We passed the sign on the village outskirts. 'Welcome to Portwenn.' Nearly home now. "So, why were you trying to deflect Ruth's questions about my dad?"

He shrugged. "I… I didn't want you to be bothered. Your father… uhm, it must be… difficult."

My turn to sigh. "I know, but he's in prison. Not the best of things. But he did bring explosives into the country."

"His sentence was reduced after he worked with Interpol, yes?"

"Right."

"They intercepted that trawler when they got to port in Spain. But your dad did come back for you when that madman had us… up, in surgery."

I stroked his hand again. "I was scared."

"Me too."

"Yes, for even pirates get scared once in a while."

Martin almost grinned at me. "But a very nice pirate."

He looked relaxed now; his steering smooth. Martin has back in a good mood, and I was glad for it. We had had a momentous day for lots of reasons. A wedding registry, along with meeting his Aunt Ruth. I liked it when Martin looked happy and that made me happy. At such times he seemed free, we could have an actual conversation without arguing, and there were other things; good things. I licked my lips as I felt a flush rise to my face and neck as I recalled some of them. Martin could be difficult during the day, but I never had complaints in our bed, so perhaps later?

I still held his left hand and his fingers interlaced tenderly with mine. Yes good things – all good things at the moment.

But when we drove up to the house Martin muttered a curse. Chippy Miller was sitting on the surgery front terrace with a bandage covering one eye and one arm strapped to his chest with a bit of dirty rope.

Martin jerked his hand from mine and parked the car in one swift moment. "Bugger," he muttered. "Another idiot come to call."


	80. Chapter 80

**Chapter 80 – Chippy**

"Louisa, I need your help!" From the edge in Martin's voice it was clear that he meant _statum_.

"Coming," I called out. I went from the kitchen into surgery where Martin was bending over Chippy Miller, who was laid out flat on his back on the exam couch. "Yes?"

Martin straightened his back and peered at me through a set of magnifying goggles strapped over his eyes. His eyes were huge, almost matching his large head. "Ahm. I need you to hold Mr. Miller's head still. I am trying to remove a foreign body from his eye and he keeps flinching."

I approached the couch and said softly to Chippy, "Hello Chippy. What's all this then?"

He squinted up at me. "Got some swarf in my eye."

Martin grumbled. "Dirt."

"And how'd that happen?" I asked.

"Oh we was pulling this pot up and it was stuck in the bottom. Not likely to be a rock cause where we dropped our string of pots there ain't any rocks. But the bottom can be mucky; half sand-shell, the rest can be mud."

Martin shook his head. "Stop talking!"

Chippy smiled. "Doc? I'm just answering your missus. Now as I was sayin' as the winch took a strain on the line it got real tight, like a bow string, right? And the boom actually bent down a bit. Dave, you know Dave Utterly, my skipper…"

"Sure."

"Well Dave says 'Watch it!' cause I was taking hold of the line to give it a wiggle, to see it was snagged. Well right 'bout then the boat fell off into a trough, and then came back up, sharp like." He chuckled. "Well I was blowed 'cause the bloody bugger came shooting outta the water and hit me in the arm, and with all the stuff flyin' about something got in my eye."

"Language!" Martin yelled.

Chippy's face fell. " _Sorry_ Miss Glasson. So the lobster pot shot out of the water and knocked me on my arse. Bunged up my arm as well." He laughed. "And it had three keepers in it!"

Martin glared down at him. "Now if you will STOP talking so I can treat your eye injury?"

"You're not gonna poke something in my eye are you?"

"No," Martin said, but I could see he was holding forceps of some kind.

"Martin," I said to him, "Chippy's just nervous and in pain likely. Can you give him something?"

He sighed at me. "I already have put a drop of ophthalmic anesthetic, proparacaine, in it. If he'd quit squirming about and pay attention to what his pain receptors are _telling_ him, he _might_ notice that his eye _does not_ hurt any more."

Chippy opened his injured and eye and blinked slowly. It was all orange and red. "Well I'll be damned. Doesn't hurt a bit! Brilliant."

"Martin, why is his eye all orange like that?" I asked Martin.

"That's the fluorescein dye. It helps to localize any imbedded objects or corneal injury. Now," Martin rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, "Louisa, could you please stabilize this man's head? Just put you hand on the sides of his head so he doesn't move."

I smiled down at Chippy. "Like he says. Right? Just relax."

He grinned. "How you doin? That baby about ready to come out yet?"

"About."

"And open both eyes, wide," Martin commanded. "Look up at the ceiling. Focus on one spot and don't shift them at all. Then I can use this fluorescent pocket torch to visualize the injury."

I'd seen Martin held a small torch in his hand and wondered what that was for.

Chippy nodded. "Okay. Got it. There's a dirty smudge up there. Make's a good target."

Martin peered upward at the indicated smudge. "Humph. Now your eye should not hurt, you're not moving it, and I have a small padded forceps in my hand. The brief glimpse I got before tells me there is a bit of dirt, or swarf, as you called it, on the cornea – the clear part of your eye. I'll reach in with the instrument and remove it. Then I'll wash it with this bottle of saline and further examine it for any other debris or scratches."

I smiled down at Chippy who'd begun to grow sweat on his face as Martin told him what he was going to do. I patted his bearded cheeks. "There. Don't worry. As Martin says, Chippy, he'll take care of you. Ready?"

"Thanks Louiser. Let her rip, Doc," he muttered and looked straight up at the ceiling, also looking at me. I felt at that moment that Martin was in his element; someone that was to be trusted for now Chippy looked utterly fine, other for then his red eye.

Martin used the torch to look at the eye and he grunted.

Chippy mumbled, "What's that Doc?"

"Shush. I see it." Martin steadied the fingers on his patient's cheek, then with a steady hand reached toward the wounded orb with the tiny forceps. "Don't move."

I wanted to look away but I could not. It was fascinating to see Martin's hand make tiny movements with the steel instrument.

"You may feel a slight pressure, but no pain," Martin said softly. A few seconds passed. "I have dislodged the object. Now to remove it." He replaced the forceps with a tiny cotton swab, which he wetted with saline. He took a deep breath then with a swift and sure movement moved the swab to actually touch the eye.

My gorge rose in my throat and I had to look away. There was no blood, nothing like that, but the thought of putting anything on my eye, or anyone's, made me wobbly.

"There," Martin said. He took up the saline bottle and washed the eye, dabbing at the overflow with gauze. "It's gone." He looked again with the torch. "I don't see anything beyond the initial wound. You must have rubbed your eye."

"Yep," Chippy replied.

"Bad idea. You have a small abrasion, perhaps 1 millimeter long."

"How long is that?"

Martin cleared his throat. "About 1/32nd of an inch. It will heal quickly." He added a dab of ointment to Chippy's eye then applied a light gauze pad, followed by an eye patch. Martin straightened up. "You can sit up now. Thank you Louisa."

I helped Chippy get to a sitting position. "There," I told him. "All better."

Chippy nodded at me. "You're a keeper," he mumbled.

Martin stripped off his gloves, moved his instruments aside and took off his Martian-eye goggles. "Keep the patch on overnight. I want you to come back tomorrow so I can confirm that it is healing and infection free. Then I'll give you another treatment of antibiotics. These sorts of injuries typically do 90% of the healing in 24 hours. You may experience some pain and blurred vision. You can take paracetamols. No alcohol." He binned the gloves. "Heaven knows what sort of injury might have happened. At least it's not a ruptured orbit. Now, about your wrist?"

I touched Martin's arm. "Need me any longer?"

"No. You can go."

I nodded at him and flashed him a bright smile, but Martin was already bending to stare at Chippy's arm, whose wrist was at an odd angle.

"Sort of clicks–like," Chippy was saying as I left surgery. "Not sure how that will go with my new pirate look," he chuckled.

I'd just seen Martin perform a procedure with swift and sure manner and it had made my fiancé happy. Imagine that. But seeing him touch that eye still gave me goose-flesh.


	81. Chapter 81

**Chapter 81 – Beauty**

I was on the sofa with my feet up and a couple pillows propped behind me. It felt good to get some weight off. My poor ankles were getting puffy. I flipped through one of my baby books. I turned to the next to last chapter, titled 'Childbirth.' I was biting my lip over the lovely and wonderful things that Mother Nature had designed so women could give birth.

Meanwhile I heard Martin and Chippy out in reception. Martin was saying, "Now, ice and paracetamols, keep the wrist elevated as much as possible. And no alcohol. And come back tomorrow and I will change the eye dressing."

I heard Chippy laugh. "Doc, you keep sayin' _the_ wrist, _the_ dressing."

"And when you are here tomorrow, I'll take some blood for a cholesterol screen. I don't like that weight you've been putting on."

Chippy snarled in return. "You don't like it? How you think I like it? You think I'm happy about this great gut? Eh? You go ask your missus if she likes that baby belly she's luggin' around Doc! You can bet she'll be very happy to shift it when the time comes! But this? You know after a long day on the ocean a pint or two goes down a treat."

"All useless calories," Martin said in reproach. "And the state of Miss Glasson's pregnancy is _none_ of your business."

"Business? Ha. You don't get it, do you? I known Louiser all my days. Her dad put a word in fer me at the quarry, you know. Terry Glasson… well he wasn't all that perfect, but by God he put food on the table for his little girl. Him and her, close as peas in a pod. Her mum weren't so much. I seen her in the village lately; workin' fer Bert. Now I ask you is that a good thing? I mean Eleanor being' back? Must be a worry for Louiser. There's a lot of mucky water under that bridge, if you ask me."

I bit my lip harder. Yep. There was. Suddenly I had to brush at an eye which was too watery. Damn it. I did need to see mum; try to put things to right, or at least better. I shook my head wondering what in heaven's name I was thinking when I blew up at her at the baby shower.

I missed what Martin said next, but suddenly Martin's broad back was at the door as he tried to get Chippy to leave. "Now," I heard him say, "Tomorrow, ten o'clock. Out."

"But Doc! I'll be out on the boat, see? I don't work I don't get paid? Unless you wanna' give me one of them 'Unfit For Work Letters.'"

"Not with the eye and that gimpy wrist you won't. What is it with you people? You've been injured! That wrist will do you no good at all on a fishing boat for God's sake! And an eye patch as well?" I heard him sigh. "A Statutory Sick Pay form is not appropriate for a short term issue."

SSP was a government plan to assist sick and disabled workers and the school paid into the plan for our teachers and staff.

Chippy bristled. "But Doc! If I don't work I don't eat. How about that form?"

I levered myself off the sofa and approached the conversation. "Sorry," I butted in. "Martin if Chippy can't work…"

"Louisa, you ought to be resting," Martin addressed me. "Now if you please? I am consulting with this patient."

I frowned at my dearest. "Martin, look, if Chippy is injured, and he is…" Chippy grinned ear to ear, as I said this.

Martin shook his head. "Now you've got me boxed in."

I shook my head. "Martin, you've just told the man he can't work. Right?"

Martin nodded.

"Then he ought to get an SSP form. I know how it works." I crossed my arms. "And no I am not boxing you in. Okay?"

Chippy smiled even more. "Thanks Miss Glasson. You're brilliant. See Doc?" Next he pointed down at my hand. "Oh, and my Emma said you was wearin' his ring once more."

I ducked my head. "Yeah, I am."

Martin looked at me sharply and then at Chippy as if he was daring the fisherman to say more, not that it would stop any villager.

"Good, good," Chippy sighed. "All good. I think that is champion. 'Bout time ain't it? When's the date?"

It was my turn to gaze at Martin. "We…"

Martin cleared his throat. "Have _not_ set the date. Now, Mr. Miller, if you would? GO."

Chippy bowed his head. "But my SSP letter?" He lifted his injured arm. "Can't work, right?"

Martin blew air from his nose and pushed past Chippy to rummage through Pauline's desk. He ripped a form off a pad, bent down to scribble something on it then stomped back to us.

"There," he snapped at Chippy. "Satisfied?"

Chippy scanned the form squinting with his uncovered eye. "Doc, sorry. I don't think you dated it."

Martin snatched it away, held the paper against Chippy' s back and savagely wrote on it. "There! Now go."

Chippy bowed his head. "Aye, aye, Doc." He winked at me. "Miss Glasson, thankee for your help. We'll get the Doc sorted, won't we?"

I pursed my lips to speak but saw the angry expression on Martin's face. "Better go now."

Chippy bowed his head at Martin. "She's a beauty, Doc. One of Cornwall's natural wonders. You're a lucky man."

Martin sighed but told him, "You may be right."

Chippy finally left us and I faced Martin after he closed the door. I crossed my arms. "May?"

Martin rolled his shoulders at me.

"What's that mean?"

He reached out to stroke my cheek with the back of his hand. "Perhaps I misspoke. You are beautiful."

I took his hand and pressed my lips against it. "Thank you Martin. And you're quite handsome."

He ducked his head to the side. "I'm… just adequate... perhaps."

I threw my arms around him and kissed his cheek. "Better than that, seems to me," I murmured into his ear.

He looked at his watch and yawned. "Nearly half eight."

I brightened. "Bed time?"

He nervously nodded as I took his hand and pulled him to the stairs.

 **Author's note:**

 **There are at least two relief systems in the UK. I've probably messed up the facts to qualify for a payout, so please bear with me.**


	82. Chapter 82

**Chapter 82 - Memory**

As we got ready for bed, Martin wasn't his usual efficient self. I mean he'd start doing one thing pause for a few seconds, and then get back to it. Usually he was a whirlwind of activity, each part of his routine as smooth and economical of motion and energy as a well-oiled machine. But tonight? Well, it made me wonder what was going on in his head.

Meanwhile I tried to tend to my knitting, as I took off my makeup and brushed my hair. Finally I could not stand his stops and starts any longer. "What?" I asked.

He'd made it to the bath door but was standing there staring into the room as if he'd never seen bathroom fixtures before. "Hm?" he answered.

"Something must be wrong. What is it?"

He ducked his head to the side. "Nothing," he answered but I saw how his hand gripped the door frame.

"Must be something. Something I said perhaps?"

"No," he answered in his usual clipped way. "I'll just…" he sighed, "uhm, go brush my teeth."

He closed the door behind him leaving me shaking my head. Something… something was wrong. I was sitting there biting my lip when he emerged, now in his pyjamas. I watched in my dressing table mirror as he carried his suit coat and trousers to the closet and carefully hung them there.

"Dry cleaner will be happy for your business," I told him, trying to stifle the odd tension between us.

"Humph," he blew out. "That _idiot_ interrupted us."

"Yeah," I answered recalling how he'd butted in when Martin and I were trying to discuss why we didn't meet at the church. "But that was last November. And he's not an idiot."

Martin closed the closet door with a firm thunk. "I do believe…"

"What?"

"Oh, he said some things."

I wracked my brain. "He came to the house to bring your suit as a recall and the poor man was limping terribly. I don't remember him saying much else."

Martin cleared his throat. "Oh, before and later."

I turned in the chair to face him.

He began an intense interest in the lampshade, brushing a bit of fluff away, I guess, and then he adjusted the angle it sat on the lampstand.

"Martin?"

He looked at me for a moment but then turned to the window and stood there seemingly ignoring me. "Windy out there."

Classic Martin behavior - ignore the issue or change the subject. I put down my hairbrush, awkwardly rose to my feet and with aching back lumbered over to the window. He pointed at waves building up in the harbor. "Yeah, waves." I turned to face him. "You wanna tell me what's going on in that large handsome head of yours?"

He tipped his head a bit. "Nothing."

"Nothing in your head or there's nothing the matter?"

He shrugged.

I touched his elbow. "It was unfair that I bugged you about Chippy Miller and I apologize."

He nodded. "Right."

"None of my business to get between you and your patients." I smiled at him. "We good?"

"Yes," he sighed softly but the way it came out it didn't sound very positive.

I wanted to hug him but it was clear that he was being standoffish. Sighing I went to the loo. Wat was said about his schooling was ugly. Of course he'd been bullied. Poor little boy. Those few words from his aunts explained much about Martin Ellingham. It was no wonder he was… the way he was. But I was, well the way that I was for similar reasons. Nearly orphans the both of us and it's a wonder we got on at all.

When I emerged from the bathroom, he was in bed reading his medical journal. At least that part was normal for it was part of his usual bedtime routine. I climbed into bed and began the challenging effort to get comfortable in bed using three pillows, two behind my upper back and head, with one between my knees. I was squirming and wriggling about to no avail until Martin helped.

He put a firm hand on the pillows behind me which kept trying to squirt away. "Let me help," he said.

It was just what I needed, a stable bed, so I was finally able to brace my back. "Thanks."

"Of course."

"That works, at least until I have to go use the toilet." I looked over at him and broached what I had thought about it. "School was hard."

"The material was straight forward."

"But living away from home was not."

He shook his head. "Uhm." It was his way of saying volumes.

I reached over and took his hand which lay lifeless between my fingers. "But holidays were with your aunt and uncle."

"Yes. I enjoyed that."

"Until you were eleven you said."

He nodded but then glanced down at his journal. "I was reading this article on the incidence of diabetes in urban student populations."

"And?"

He sighed. "The study shows that both planned and unplanned activity can reduce the prevalence of early onset diabetes in children under thirteen by keeping their weight in the optimal average."

I shook my head. "And this has what to do with holidays?"

He slowly sighed. "It has been found that if someone has engaged in physical activity, say exercise - supervised or otherwise - and then they are in an environment where they cannot engage in that activity, the memory of doing that activity activates the very same parts of the brain. That by remembering that exercise or activity they can experience it once more; mentally. In addition it has been shown to be a useful exercise in rehabilitation after injury."

This must be the way that he thought; stringing together abstruse ideas and facts into a logical whole. The problem was most of us had a hard time keeping up with him. "So diabetes, exercise, and mental exercise all together mean just _what_?"

He closed the journal, put it on the bedside table, and switched off his reading lamp. He then scrunched down to put his head on his pillow and lay stiffly staring at me.

"Martin? You can't just… say all that and leave me hanging."

He rolled onto his side and gazed hard at me. "When I was staying with Joan and Phil I could pick up feathers, or sea shells; collect them; that sort of thing. Roam through the fields as well."

"Okay."

His strong arm went toward me and then gently rested on my bump. I put my hand on his to hold it there. "Martin, what are you saying?"

He didn't speak for a few seconds, but then he whispered, "At school when things were… difficult… I'd remember being down on Joan's farm. Uncle Phil and me on the tractor, or fishing, or…"

"Almost like being there again, you mean."

His fingers lay inert under mine, and I was afraid to move my hand, for he had just told me something very important. He gulped in answer.

I stretched my neck and kissed his forehead. "You carried that memory; relived it - in your head."

He nodded.

"So it was like being there once more. Running over the fields."

His fingers held my belly, not that even his large hands cold hold the largeness of it. "Joan would pack a hamper and we'd have a meal on the bluff overlooking the sea."

"A good memory then and that's better than a bad one."

"Right," he murmured.

"And that's what we ought to do. Press on, together; you and me."

He sighed. "Won't be easy you know."

I grinned. "Martin, I think you and I will never find it easy."

He pursed his lips. "Uhm… you may be right."

"And we could do that you know; have a picnic. If the weather's fine perhaps tomorrow we do that for supper?"

"Possibly," he muttered.

With great determination I rolled onto my side to face him and began to stroke his hair. "Memories can be powerful; both good and bad."

"Hm," he replied.

"Sooooo…"

"Yes?"

"I been thinking," I kissed his cheek, "let's make a good memory, Martin." I kissed his lips, hugged him tightly and waited for his answer.

"But…" his eyes scanned my rotund and pumped-up figure in the dimness. "The… baby… and all."

I pressed myself to him and kissed his neck. "It's okay Martin," I said. "You won't hurt me, I'm sure of it. Good memory then?"

"That would be good," he whispered.


	83. Chapter 83

**Chapter 83 - Two em's**

I had to fill in for Angela with her year threes the next day, for she had broken a tooth eating granola. Then poor girl got to take a painful trip over to Wadebridge to the dentist. Luckily my teeth were in very good shape and so were Martin's so hopefully our baby boy would have good tooth genes. We tended to avoid the sweet stuff as well, at least Martin did. I would always hanker after chocolate biscuits though.

The class had their heads down over math worksheets. All but Maggie and Millie Perkins, the auburn-haired identical twins. The sisters were giggling and slyly passing something back and forth across the aisle. The Perkins girls weren't bad kids actually, but as a team they tended to pull pranks, tease other students, and be a disruption in general.

I marched down the aisle and spoke their names sharply.

The girls looked up guiltily, saying together, "We wasn't doin' anything!"

I held out my left hand. "I don't care what you are passing back and forth. Just put it in my hand."

Millie's freckled face screwed up. "Ah, miss…"

I snapped my fingers and shook my head. "NOW."

Millie sighed, pulled her fist from under her desk, and then dropped a scrunched up yellow bag into my hand.

It was a candy bag. My heart skipped a beat - chocolate covered peanuts. Oh my. "M&Ms?" It was still half full.

The girls nodded as one. "Yes miss."

I sighed. "Eating candy or sweets of _any_ kind in class is _against_ the rules. You  know that."

Maggie ducked her head. "We know."

"Sorry miss," Millie added.

"Does Miss Kemper allow this when she is teaching?"

"No," the twins replied.

I shook my head in disappointment. "See me after school. In my office."

I went back to the front of the room, and dropped mangled bag into the bin. I turned to see fifteen children eyeing me with disdain. "Eating in class is not allowed; just a reminder," I said to them. I looked at the clock. "About time for recess. Put your papers and pencils away." I walked over to the hall door and turned. "Come on then. Line up. Play time."

Barney looked towards me with a frown. "Miss, it's two minutes early."

"I can tell time, Barney. Enough math for now, right?" The kids slowly left their desks and sidled into the empty hall in a line. Maggie and Millie held back though. "Yes?" I asked them.

"Us too? Playtime?" Maggie asked, or I think it was Maggie. In their assigned seats I could keep them straight, but standing in front of me I had no clue. Even their mum had trouble telling them apart I'd heard.

The girls stood shoulder to shoulder wearing identical school outfits of course, with their long hair put up in an elaborate braid on top of their heads. "Yes, you as well."

The girls looked at each other and shrugged.

"Now look. No more candy. Got it?"

They nodded gravely.

"But you still want to see us?" the sister on the right asked. " _After_ school?"

I shook my head _no_. "Consider it settled. Right, you two?"

The sister on the left smiled. "Thank you Miss Glasson."

"Now, go out and play," I told them. "Have fun."

The sisters took hands and happily skipped towards the front door, while I waddled after them.

It was a sunny afternoon and the wall which kept people from falling off the cliff felt warm on my bum as I leaned against it. The kids from my class, and the other third form, ran around chasing one another, or playing hopscotch, while a few girls skipped rope, and some of boys formed a kickball game.

Pippa Woodley sauntered over. "I seen you rubbing your back," she whispered with a smile in her voice. "Things happening?"

"Yeah. No. I don't know. Bit of a backache is all."

"Ah."

"Wot's that mean? Ah?"

Pippa grinned and poked my belly. "That little feller wants out."

"Yep. Soon enough." Frantic motion caught my attention on the play yard. "Barney and Ben! No wrestling!" I yelled.

Two little voices answered me. "Sorry miss!"

"You'll be chasing that little one around the house soon enough," Pippa coughed. "After he learns to crawl."

"Will you let the little guy get born first?" The baby rolled over or something down there and I gasped.

"You okay?" Pippa took my arm.

I nodded and blew out some air. "Just no room in there. Poor little thing. And there's no one more interested than me to hold my baby in my arms. Got it?"

"Humph. No need to snap."

"Sorry Pipper."

She patted my shoulder. "We mums have to put up a lot. Our men folk moan and groan at times but they don't have to put up with havin' kids and all that."

"Not always the most fun, no." The memory of Martin making breakfast this morning, putting a filled plate in front of me, and then softly running his hand down a line from my neck to my waist. "But… perhaps there are compensations."

"Oh?" she grinned. "You're blushing you are. You and the Doc are being frisky!" she giggled.

"Pippa!" I admonished her. " _Gosh_." But she was right. I _was_ blushing for I could feel the blood move up into my face and neck and other places in a pleasant tingle.

She nodded. "Post-partum ain't no easy road mind you. I was so sore nursing my twins that I…"

I held up my hand and she stopped for practically every mum, both young and old, had regaled me, or tried to, with non-helpful tales of sore nether regions, incontinence, and cracked nipples. "Please - no more."

"Sorry Louisa." She winked. "But bein' a mum is like nothing else on earth. I'd not trade it for anything. My two boys aren't easy at times, but oh my when they're all lovey and sweet? That makes it all just perfect." She sighed. "Until one throws a punch at the other fighting over the telly remote."

"How old are they now?"

"Twelve goin' on twenty," she laughed. "You'll get the hang of it Louisa. And you're gonna be a super mum."

Motherhood; being a mum, as Pippa said, was what I was looking forward to. "I'll remember that when he cries all night."

Pippa grinned at me, and then walked across the school yard to start sorting the kids into separate classes before going inside.

I turned around to make sure all the kids were paying attention to her, when out of the corner of my eye I saw my mum standing at the gate, looking in my direction. We hadn't actually spoken since the baby shower. Shame on me for I had bit her head off. If she didn't give the time of day I couldn't blame her. But I gave her a wave of my hand and she called my name.

"Lou-lou?" She beckoned so of course I had to go over there; couldn't ignore her in public. I glanced at Pippa and she bobbed her head and waved me in the direction of the gate.

"Right," I muttered to myself. As I walked over to her I was nervous. Eleanor was my mum and always would be. But we weren't very nice to one another. My baby aimed a kick at my ribs and it made me wince.

Eleanor was smiling at least, or she was squinting from the bright sunshine. "Lou-lou, uhm… how is?" she pointed to my belly. "Haven't seen you much. Things goin' alright?"

I saw the way her hands squeezed the top rail of the gate. Was she as nervous as I was? I breathed deeply and told her, "The baby's fine. Me and Martin too."

She nodded. "That's good."

"How are you?"

She sighed. "Figuring out new ways to deal with Bert Large. The man… well he can be… frustrating. Sometimes I think the man's got IED. Jumpin' from here to there like that." She snapped her fingers. "One minute he's changing the menu from fish and chips to beef Wellington and then back! Or he goes off on a tear about wine!"

IED? Bert was an explosive? "Oh, you mean _A.D.D._ Attention Deficit Disorder." Behind me I heard the kids making noise as the lined up. "But… so… uhm… how…" I squared my shoulders. "You know."

She looked up at me and nodded. "I'm fine if you're askin'."

"Good news then." I looked at her lined face and wondered if she felt the way I did when she was carrying me? "Mum, I'm sort of nervous. The baby and all. How was it with you?"

"Oh Lou-lou I was a basket case. It was your dad who kept me calm. Imagine that! It was his fault that we got preggers. Fergot to buy… you know."

From overhearing ancient fights between them I knew that was the case. Martin and I both felt that reproductive responsibility ought to be shared - not that it did the two of us any good. I cocked my head. "Right. But here I am just the same."

Mum smiled and took my hand. "Yes you are. My little girl, gonna be a mum."

"Soon enough." That was one of the em's; _motherhood_.

My mum stared at me intently. "You'll be fine."

"Martin always tells me that."

"You're a strong girl, Lou-lou."

"I'm pretty well grown up now." I sighed. "Haven't been a girl for ages." And my last birthday I turned thirty-seven.

She sighed. "And I'm so sorry I missed so much. I let you and yer dad down. And I'm sorry for all of it."

"And I shouldn't have snapped at you at the shower. That was mean of me."

She sighed once more. "Well you're entitled. If you told me off - told me to clear out - I'd understand."

I looked into her sorrowful eyes. "No, don't go mum. I… look, I'm… Martin and me are going to have this baby in about four weeks… so… might be nice… if you stuck around. And besides we're going to get married. Maybe…" my voice was shaking, "maybe, mum… you can give me away?" That was the other em - _marriage_.

Her face lit up and she said softly, "I'd like that; a lot."

Her hand snaked into mine and we stood there with the gate between us. Two nervous but smiling women who had just agreed that we were still connected. It was a start.


	84. Chapter 84

**Chapter 84 – Difference**

Ruth Ellingham's Mercedes jolted into another pothole with a tremendous slam, and then crashed up and out the other side of the divot as I grimly held onto the door handle.

"Sorry Louisa," Ruth mumbled. "The parish council really ought to get this road patched." She turned to me and grinned. "I hope this isn't shaking the baby too much."

"No, he's pretty well protected."

"Not much longer though. The big old world is not as protective as a mum's insides." Ruth cackled a little laugh.

"True; too true. Ruth thanks for driving me to Truro."

"My pleasure," Martin's aunt replied, "but I'd have thought you'd have the baby furniture delivered?"

"I did. But the flat-pack for the cot was damaged and I sent it back by post. Dave, our Postie, was very apologetic. The store was very wishy-washy about when a new one would arrive, and I wanted to have it on hand, just in case."

Ruth gripped the steering wheel tightly as she drove around another bad patch of macadam. "Has your OB indicated that you might deliver early?"

"No, but best to be ready."

"First timers tend to be later rather than sooner," she mused. "When I consulted for the women's prison we'd shift any inmates to the special ward within a month of their due dates. Best for the mothers as well. The OB ward was a much better environment."

"How many women had their babies there?"

"A few. Ghastly when you think about it."

"How long did you work there?"

She smiled. "Long before I started at Broadmoor." She shook her head. "Poor dears. Not a babies' fault that mum is a prisoner. I was there for three years."

The thought of being in prison and giving birth didn't sound very appealing. "And what would happen? I mean to the children?"

She sighed. "Depended on the circumstances. If the inmate was in good stead with the authorities – that is they minded the rules - then they got to keep their babies for a few weeks, perhaps as long as two months."

"My God. Only weeks?" My hand went automatically to my belly and I rubbed it.

"Louisa, a jail is no place for a child."

I bit my lip. Was that the way that Martin felt? Both at home and school? Abused and bullied? "I know that. Ruth?"

"Yes dear."

"You've known Martin for his whole life. Was his home as bad as Joan said?"

She nodded her head. "Yes, from what I am aware. My sister-in-law clearly wanted nothing to do with her son. She made that quite clear from the beginning, even before he was born."

My teeth on my lip bit harder. "Oh no," I blurted out.

"You've not met Martin's mother have you?"

"No. She and his dad were down here for a few days but I never met them."

"A cold fish, you might say." She turned and grinned. "I hate to speak ill of family but neither my brother, nor his wife, ought to have had children. Both of them unfit for the task."

Just what Martin had said about them. "I see."

She smiled. "I doubt that Martin's mum ever loved anyone at all; only herself."

I cleared my throat, it all was dry with what I had to say. "But now I have to ask you, as a woman, and his aunt, and a professional, do… I mean… has it?" I wasn't making much sense. I took a deep breath. "Right. What _did_ make Martin the way he is? Home, school, all that. And he's not the warmest of people."

Ruth drove in silence for a hundred yards, but near a layby, she stopped the car on the road verge.

It startled me and for an instant I was afraid she'd dump me out by the side of the road.

Ruth went on, "When Martin was five or so he was a sensitive boy but in a couple years after he was shipped off to school he had nearly shut down. The bright engaging happy child I knew was gone – replaced with a cold exterior. I'm sure that every time he tried to engage in a meaningful child to parent exchange they cut the boy down. You see he'd likely learned that he was not worthy of love, and I think that he believes that to this day. Perhaps you can loosen him up. Maybe you already have."

"I've tried… am trying." I looked across the moor as I pondered what she just told me. Were Martin and I fit for the task of parenthood? And could I widen the cracks I'd made in his self-made armour? "But I love my… our, baby."

Her mouth twitched, and then she turned to face me. "Louisa, I wonder. Why are you pregnant with his child? No," she held up her hand, "I don't mean the mechanics of egg and sperm. You are an intelligent woman. College educated, a teacher, _Head_ _Teacher_ no less, bright, beautiful, and I'd think that you could have any man you wanted. But you chose him - _Martin_ \- and it appears that he chose you. Why? I've been wondering. You were to be married once but you didn't. You left the village and then you came back. Then you move in with him. As much fun as playing at house can be, it can be difficult living with a man. I know, for I've done it as well, once or twice. But you two are once again engaged and about to have your child within a few weeks. But why _Martin_? Louisa, I love my nephew but I am fully aware that he can be a stick in the mud. He is also rude, brash, and too direct – and off putting as all get out. But he is extremely capable and intelligent, at least in the medical area. So I ask you once more, why? Why are you and he together? Or are you?"

My heart had been falling steadily at her words. "So you don't think we're suited," I snapped.

"I didn't say that." She smiled a crooked smile. "Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye. Isn't that how the saying goes?" She tapped the steering wheel. "When you two are together and the door is closed is he different? Or is he just as rude? If so you must then be a glutton for punishment and then _no_ I do not approve."

Tears started to prick my eyes. "He's very… kind at times… softer… quieter. And he can be quite tender. That little boy you mentioned? He's still in there. He peeks out once in a while, the way he gulps, or ducks his head, or… clears his throat when he's nervous." Now my tears were in full flood.

Ruth handed me a tissue from a box in the console. "Dry your eyes dear."

"Let me finish, Ruth. From the start it hit me. He was tall, smartly dressed, and a very good doctor." I blew my nose loudly. "So that's it."

She nodded. "And big ears."

I held up my hand so she'd quit talking. "No. And…" the image of a nervous Martin digging into Peter Cronk's side in an ambulance, "he would never, EVER, do anything to harm anyone. He _helps_ people, even those who do not want his help. So… he doesn't suffer fools and Lord knows there are plenty about the village. I've seen him do things that would make nearly anyone blanch!" Being lowered down a cliff so he could drill a hole in the baker's head, or plunging a very long needle into Holly's chest to bring her back to life.

"So he's your Superman?"

I thought about that. "No, for he _does_ have his kryptonite - his blood phobia. He doesn't want to be a superman, but sometimes he has to be! But he does care; he really does, in spite of his little problem. So yes he has his reasons to be the way he is, and perhaps he doesn't know quite why he does what he does." My face broke. "Ruth… I… I'm not making much sense am I?"

Ruth smiled. "Louisa, those tears trickling down your pretty cheeks tell me more than words can say. If he suits you and you him, then the rest of the world can go hang. So you do love him."

I nodded yes.

"And he actually said that the words to you, 'I love you,' as well?"

"More than once," I said as I wiped my face.

"Good. Bloody miracle is that." She grinned again then touched my elbow. "Joan and Phil were happy for a time but it went sour. I never married. Oh I had the chance but it would not have worked out. Martin's parents? A waste as well." She inspected the nails on her left hand then rubbed her hands together. "Perhaps the two of you will do more than just stick it out. Hm? Do more than just _settle_. There are plenty of couples who do that – they settle. I suppose if that's what they want than good for them." She shook her head. "Louisa please don't mind this dotty spinster criminal psychiatrist. But I had to know, for his sake, and for yours."

I thought for a minute about what she'd just said. "Thank you Ruth, for caring about your nephew. Maybe he and I can get it right. I surely plan on trying to do so."

She patted my hand. "Won't be easy you know. You'll have to work hard at it. Harder than most." She inspected the mirrors (the road was empty of traffic anyway) then drove back onto the road. "But if you love one another, that makes all the difference."

"We do."

Ruth laughed. "But my goodness when I saw him defending you at table; about your mum and dad? I could tell he cares deeply for you."

"He does that yes. So you can see we _do_ love one other and I _do_ know it will be an adjustment."

"And when your baby is crying all night and you both are getting no sleep, you'll need a lot more than that four letter word to carry on," she smirked.

I sighed. "A lot all at once, I know. Who knows? Might be fun." And when he took me in his arms… well I melted. What she'd just said about his upbringing horrified me but also thrilled me. Martin was stuck inside himself. I rubbed my belly, the proof that he wasn't as cold and aloof as people thought.

That made Ruth laugh. "Fun? Good. Right. Now let's get this cot and we can see if my nephew is handy assembling the thing. Doctors generally make terrible mechanics."


	85. Chapter 85

**Chapter 85 – Happiness**

I watched Martin pull the cot carton open, until he gave me a quizzical look. "Problem?" I asked him.

He looked at up from the floor then glanced at the large carton on the floor. "Louisa I don't expect this will take me very long to complete."

"Just wanted to watch."

He glanced at his watch. "You mentioned a picnic?"

"Oh gosh yes! Forgot." I struck my head with my hand. "Don't know where my head was."

"Hm."

"Hm what?"

"Erm, nothing." He shrugged. "That is, you worked this morning, and then Ruth drove you into Truro, and back. You must be tired. You should nap."

"No, no, I'm fine."

He craned his neck to the side. "Unless you expect to conjure food from thin air, there's not much in the house. I had no time at lunch to shop yesterday, or the day before."

"Oh? Well I'll just pop down to the co-op."

He sighed and shook his head. "You ought to rest."

"Mar-tin, I'm fine! Really." He seemed to think that pregnancy was an illness and required the poor woman to lie flat on her back and comatose for nine months until the baby popped out. I glared at him. "I _am_. Fine. Got it?"

He actually flinched in return. "Suit yourself."

I felt bad for him, so as he turned towards assembling the cot I smoothed his hair then planted a kiss on his head. "I'm fine. We'll have fun, promise."

"Okay," he murmured as I walked away.

It didn't take very long at all to get down to the Platt, but the walk uphill took longer than I expected. I was slowed by the girl pack who in typical fashion teased me about my lumbering gait and the shape I was in by their hands simulating my large belly. A fuse blew. "Always _funny_ to poke fun at a pregnant woman, is it?" I bristled in anger.

That stopped their goofing off. "Sorry," one or two muttered while the rest hung their heads.

"Do you think I wanted it this way? Hm?" I asked them quietly. I stared at all of them and their faces went pale. "I'll let you in on a little secret. Birth control doesn't _always_ work, got it?" My hand caressed the object of their fun, my pregnant belly.

The five girls started at one another in shock.

"And Doctor Ellingham and I ARE getting married." I tossed my head. "Have a nice afternoon ladies," I told them as I turned to leave them. I was pretty certain that the bombshell I'd just dropped on them would lead to a number of problems; like unhappy romantic encounters. "Too bad for them," I muttered to myself.

The co-op gave me what I wanted. Apples, oranges, walnuts, a small head of lettuce, and raspberry vinaigrette. Just right for a fruit salad. I also bought thin wafers, a jar of pate, and six eggs to boilup, all into small carry basket.

My fingers lingered over the small section of wine bottles. In a few months, perhaps. Instead I picked up a bottle of sparkling water. I carried my items to the counter and emptied the shopping basket.

Mrs. Greer, the proprietor, raised her eyebrows. "Miss Glasson you do look cheerful."

"Content, perhaps."

"Glowing you are."

I ducked my head. "Oh just a little grub for a picnic, on the beach."

She smiled. "No rain they say and a fine evening for it." She rang up my purchase and I gave her my card.

"Yeah. Well, I just thought that Martin might enjoy a little time out of his house."

She looked around the store; empty of people but for the two of us. "So… marriage I heard."

I nodded. "True."

She grinned wickedly.

"Something wrong?"

She sighed. "I do imagine that... well… the Doc… uhm…"

"What about Martin?" I braced myself for her a snarky comment.

"They say…" She shook her head as she put the groceries into a plastic sack.

"Say what? And who's they?" I asked angrily.

She held up her hands. "Miss Glasson look, I don't want you to get hurt is all I'm saying."

"Do I look like I'm hurt? Or sad?"

"Perhaps _disappointed_ is what I meant to say."

I snatched the sack from her hands and cocked a hand on my hip. "I'll have you know that Martin and I are very happy! Got it?"

"Okay, fine. 'Nuff said," she muttered.

"Good day," I snapped and was away.

By the time I got back to the house my anger had abated somewhat, turning more into a dull ache of resentment. Honestly! Must everyone in the village have a snarky comment to make about us? I put water on to boil for the eggs, and then started assembling the salad. I tried to hold my mind to what Ruth had been saying. If it was fine with the two of us, then what did we care what others thought? But there was a lingering doubt. Had I trapped Martin with our baby? Running off to London, finding there I was carrying his child and then not telling him? Revealing my expectant self to him was just _not_ right, was it? What had I been thinking? I must have been bodmin.

Now I was chopping walnuts savagely. The nerve of Mrs. Greer! What did she know about it anyway? But she had a point. What if... what if he and I... ended up like mum and dad? Fighting all the time? Or just being miserable? What kind of a home would that make? How would that affect our son? Would he grow up resenting the both of us? Much the same I was mad at Mum? All these dark thoughts were no good at all, but they dragged me right along deeper and deeper into gloom.

Martin came clattering downstairs. "The cot's assembled. Wasn't that hard. A matter of following the directions. No words – just pictures."

I took another mean slice into a walnut and it flew away, almost hitting him in the face.

He cleared his throat. "What's wrong? You seem upset."

I pointed the knife at him. "Are you happy? With me? Us? All…" I set the knife on the chopping board and my hand went where it always did, my belly on the right side. "Of this?"

His face froze. "Uhm…" his Adam's apple joggled as he gulped.


	86. Chapter 86

**Chapter 86 – Work**

Watching as Martin tried to speak, I felt an actual pang of fear, moving on to sheer and stark panic. What was wrong with me? I know that I'm nervous, anxious as well, but why did I blurt out what I just asked? 'Happy?' Good God Louisa, how can the man be happy? He's constantly picking up after you, from school papers and dirty dishes in the sink, to underwear draped over the bathtub. You absolutely must do better – pick up after yourself! Right? Don't be bloody slob!

I saw the way he eyed the knife, now resting on the chopping board. Had I actually pointed it at him? At least we had a table between us when I did that.

He cocked his head then peered at me. "Are you, ahem, feeling well?"

I nodded dumbly. "Sorry about the knife, and I wondered is all." I shrugged. "Are you?"

He cleared his throat. "There are times…" he rolled his shoulders indecisively. "That I…"

Here it comes. I didn't make him happy. I never could and never would. In my memory I went back to our wedding day. Me nervous and strung out and red-eyed from crying. He looked equally strained, the way wrinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes. His voice went from a confused tone to angry when he realized I was standing him up, the same way he was standing me up as well.

But that was then and not now. Then I was wearing my wedding dress, and I wasn't pregnant. That is I _was_ pregnant but I _didn't_ know it. But that was the past. I sold that dress to get the money to move back to the village, hoping that somehow – someway – that he and I could patch things up. Patch things up? Accept things as they were? Was that my fear? That we'd just settle?

I looked around the unlovely faded-green kitchen. I'd wanted to paint the room and now, who knew what might happen next?

He took three steps closer, reached out his right hand and rested the back of his hand against my forehead. "Are you feverish?" His touch was brief then he dropped his arm. "No. Unless…"

"Mar-Tin! I am NOT sick!"

He ducked his head. "Well what then?"

I sighed, and my voice broke as said, "Just don't say _hormonal_. I mean, I am; hormonal. Obviously." Tears started to run down my face. But that wasn't all, was it? If I could only blame what I was feeling on hormones.

Quick as a flash he handed me a clean handkerchief from his suit pocket. "Ah."

I took it and dabbed my face. "Sorry."

He scanned the table where dinner makings were laid out. "You're making our supper."

"Yes."

The eggs started to thump and bang in the pot as they got up to a good rolling boil.

"How long?" he asked. "The eggs?"

"Been in about ten minutes," I snapped.

He switched off the cooker. "Let them rest for a few minutes. The cooking process will continue."

That was Martin. Factual and analytical, while his fiancée, mother of his child, and bed mate tried not to blubber. I was wondering about our future while he worried about eggs. Mar-Tin! God.

"Were you going to shell them?" he asked.

Oh well. "No."

"I see."

Hot blood rushed to my head. "Oh? I see? I see! I see? _Damn_ it Martin."

"You're upset." he licked his lips, likely thinking he had a madwoman on his hands.

"I took a deep breath and blew it out. "Got it in one. YES, I'm upset."

"What's happened?" He pulled out a chair, made me sit and then he sat down at my elbow. "Is it your mother? Something Aunt Ruth said? I can understand that Eleanor could be… uh, or that Ruth might have been poking and prying. That it? One of those two?"

I shook my head. "Mrs. Greer at the co-op."

"Who? Oh the owner. Right."

I sniffled into his handkerchief as I wondered what to say.

"Well?" he asked me.

"She… implied… said as much that I didn't look happy or that I was distressed and that made me think… about us."

"Ah," he responded. "Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"You know? Happy? Or perhaps unhappy?"

It wasn't a topic which we'd discussed - ever - and from the way I was waving a knife around it ought to be clear. "I'm upset, just at the moment."

He nodded, but not before grimacing. "I can see that."

I peeked at him from under my bangs. "Sorry Martin. It… it must be the hormones. Got me all stirred up."

"Ahm, understandable. Mood swings can be…"

" _Don't_ start Martin."

He ducked his head. "Louisa, I am just agreeing that this late in pregnancy it's perfectly understandable that you can feel apprehensive about the delivery."

Plus I was fat – really fat, and I hated the feel of it; just wanted to get it over with. I wagged my finger at him. "That as well, but this is more about _us_. Are you and me going to end up like our parents? Bickering, and fighting; making little verbal digs at each other? Or worse suffer in silence and resentment? What sort of a life is that? That what you want?"

He rocked backwards in alarm. "But we got _engaged_. You said _yes_ and you want to call it off know?"

"I don't know. We haven't set a date."

He stood up quickly. "Louisa… I…" He sighed deeply. In a shaking vice he asked, "What do you want to do?"

I unsteadily got to my feet and took his hands. "Martin, I'm not like my parents and you aren't like yours. Right?"

He gulped and nodded slowly. "God I hope not."

I cocked my head down at my belly. "And this little boy needs a mum and a dad. That's you and me, Martin. I'm sorry to dump this on you right now."

He shrugged. "Go on."

"But I _have_ to know. Are _you_ happy?"

He stared at me for long seconds and I dreaded what he would say. His eyes closed and then opened slowly. "Louisa when you were gone, up to London, I couldn't stand that you were away from Portwenn. Not seeing you was torture. And as I have said that winter was dreadful! Damn me for not being brave enough to go up there and get you, or at least call. But I was a coward, afraid you'd say _no_. And you might have, uhm, then. But _now_ you're _here_ , you came back, all..." he nodded at my rotund belly between us, "uhm, _this_ so we started over, or tried to."

"Playing house with me hasn't been a picnic has it? Just as nervous as ever." My voice quivered and my body was shaking in fear.

He nearly smiled. "No. It hasn't," he replied, but his fingers laced with mine. "But you _are_ here and together in this place, with me, and… I'm the most contented I have been in a very long time…. with you here." He peered at me intently, his eyes wide. "Now. You? Are _you_ happy with _me_?"

I bit my lip. He hadn't exactly said that he was happy, but he didn't say that he wasn't. "Maybe I wanted you to change." He started to speak but I shushed him. "Shush! _My_ turn Martin. But you've changed and so have I." I squeezed him. "We just have to see how things go. Work on it – a little at a time."

"You asked my once if you worried and you said yes."

"Yep."

"Not everything can be planned or foreseen, Louisa."

"I know that."

He took a deep breath. "Are _you_ happy, Louisa?"

I pulled him closer. "You never gave up me and you still haven't, have you?"

He sighed again. "When you were gone, I tried to forget you, but that was impossible," he said into my ear. "I could never forget. No Louisa, I can't give up on you; I won't. For when you are with me… that makes a lot of things right."

I decided that what he said were as close as Martin might come to saying he was happy. I pushed his face away enough to look at him. "I'll try to be happy and I won't let the gossips get under my skin. That okay?"

"Fine," he whispered. "Good."

I quickly kissed his lips. "Now supper – a picnic. Can you get the hamper from the pantry?"


	87. Chapter 87

**Chapter 87 – Destination**

"Here? Right here?" Martin said in the tone of is which I interpreted as 'You must be mad if this is what you meant!'

I look around the pebble strewn beach. " _Yes_ , Martin. Here. The beach. Right here." Two of the Simmons boys were throwing a Frisbee back and forth and there was a dog walker at water's edge but we had the beach to ourselves. Rosscarrock Cove was generally pretty empty, just as it was today.

He tipped his head and looked down. "Awfully rocky and sandy."

"It's a beach Martin, so yes there is sand, and rocks."

"I see that."

I pointed to a sandy spot. "Can you set the blanket out? There's a clear spot." True the beach was rocky but it was the closest one to the village and rocks didn't cover everything; such as the sandy place I pointed out. "It's not Hayle Bay, but it will do."

He wrinkled his nose. "At least the tide is out."

I ignored his observation. "This will do just fine."

Martin squatted down and arranged the ground covering. It was one I used on school field trips sometimes so it was durable and water resistant. "I'll just anchor the corners so the wind doesn't carry it off," he informed me as he strategically put a hand-sized rock on each corner. Then he started to methodically brush any sand off the blanket.

"It's fine; _don't_ fuss so." I knew he was a neat freak, but it was only sand. "You haven't been on many picnics have you?"

"Joan and I and… a friend of hers… used to go on picnics at a beach several times. I don't recall where. A crab frightened me and the water was cold." He winced. "It wasn't pleasant."

I smiled at my brave doctor who sliced into a little boy to save his life but at one time was afraid of a crab. I knew he hated dogs but what else did he fear from the animal world? Horses? Rabbits?

Martin stood and took the hamper out of my arms and the cushion he'd taken from the car. "Give me those." He squinted up at the sun, gaged the location, and put the cushion down. "Sit here, so the sun isn't in your eyes." He held out a hand to me.

I took his hand and tried to gracefully sit down, which was not possible. "Sorry, Martin, bit awkward," I apologized. I did manage to get on my bottom on the cushion, but had to sit with my legs straight out in front. "Ooof. This'll work, I guess."

"Your uterus has risen far from your pelvis and with only three weeks until your EDC…. Ahm."

I glared up at him. "EDC? Expected Date of Confinement? That's a very old term."

"Delivery," he corrected himself then he sat cross-legged across from me, clearly embarrassed. He shot his cuffs then adjusted his tie.

"Sounds like they used to lock up all the pregnant women. That what you think we ought to still do?"

He shook his head. "Certainly _not_. They thought it best to restrict activity as the term of pregnancy progressed. Given there was no way of gaging actual fetal development, or the actual date of either conception or expected delivery…" he stopped himself. "No Louisa, I _don't_ think that. Merely…"

I opened the hamper. "Let's eat, shall we?" Martin took my hint and quit talking. He watched while I took things from the basket.

He brushed at his trousers.

I rolled my eyes at him for he never relaxed. "Why did you wear a suit? You could have changed."

"I always wear a suit, Louisa. You know that."

The baby kicked me hard to remind me that wasn't quite true. "We'll see."

"About what?" He gravely sanitized his hands with a small bottle of hand cleaner we'd brought.

I had dragged him into a men's clothing store last week to look at casual clothing for him, which he rejected. I handed him a plate of salad plus the bottle of dressing. "I think cotton trousers and an open-necked shirt would suit you."

"Humph." He peered down at his plate of greens, fruits, and nuts. "A well balanced…"

Be nice, I thought. I made this salad, with my own fat-fingered and puffy pregnant hands. Please do not add to my anxiety.

"Plenty of…"

I peered at him. "It's good for you. I brought wafers and pate as well." I reached into the hamper to take out the water bottle and two plastic cups, but as I turned a sharp pang shot through my hip, making me cry out.

Martin shouted "Louisa! Are you alright?"

I massaged the sore spot. "Yes. More hip pain."

"At this point your ligaments have become more elastic due to _relaxin_ , a hormone which arises late in pregnant women. All to aid delivery through the pelvis. Are you feeling any contractions? Back pain can be a sign of labor."

I eyed him with some disdain. " _This_ pregnant woman is thinking that this picnic is supposed to be about just enjoying ourselves, _not_ discussing medical matters. No, Mar-tin, I'm _not_ in labor. When I am I'll let you know."

He looked at me sheepishly. "I was merely… that is… stating that the... uhm…" He squinted at me. "So I am not to apply my medical knowledge, that it?"

"You told me OB wasn't your thing."

"I have been reading."

"And you did deliver Isabelle's baby girl."

"Yes," he said. "On our wedding day."

I tried to smile. "We were…"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Too… uhm."

"I know." I smiled and patted his knee. "But we're here now. Now eat up, there might be afters."

"Afters?" he said just as an errant Frisbee came out of nowhere and bounced off his head. "Aghhh!" he yelled as he snatched the plastic disc off the sand. "You!" he shouted at the teenager running towards us.

Billy Simmons trotted over to us. He was sixteen; a nice boy. His brother Jack was looking at us from near the road. "Sorry 'bout that. Wind got it." He grinned. "Having a picnic?"

"What does it look like we're doing?" Martin shot back.

"Yeah, okay. Can I have my Frisbee back?" Billy asked.

Martin held the toy out of the kid's reach on purpose.

"Mar- _tin_ ," I whispered. "It's _okay_. Accident, yes? How are you Billy?"

"Fine," he replied. "I like my new school."

"Good, good. And your mum and dad?"

"All well, thank you. Sis says she likes your Miss Woodley. Really enjoys her class." The boy beamed. "The whole village heard about Mr. Strain. Glad that tosser's gone."

Martin said to him, "Mr. Strain suffered a medical condition."

"At least _he_ had an excuse," Billy countered. "Now, can I have it? My Frisbee?"

Martin sneered but handed him the toy. "Go play with this _thing_ _somewhere_ _else_ , would you?" he hissed.

Billy smiled. "Right. Enjoy your supper."

Martin scowled but handed the toy back then continued to look daggers at the boy as he trotted away. "Is there _no_ privacy here?" he moaned.

I touched his knee and he flinched. "Calm down. We _are_ in a public place, if you hadn't noticed."

He turned his head then gazed past me intently.

I turned my head to see what he was staring at. "What?"

He pointed over my shoulder. "That's the spot where Strain pushed you over."

I looked towards the edge of the cliff. "Yep." I flashed on the fear I'd felt when it was obvious that Mr. Strain was not himself. "As you told Billy," I said with shaking voice, "the man _was not_ himself." When Strain was yelling at the kids and then had turned on me his behavior switched from merely odd to very threatening. I shook my head. "Creepy."

Martin reached over and stroked my cheek. "More than just creepy Louisa. Anything might have happened. But it didn't."

I was reaching up to take his hand when his hand dropped.

"Oh God," he said. "It's PC Penhale."

Heavy footsteps heralded the approach of our plucky Constable.

"Picnic?" Joe asked. "Nice day for it," he squinted up at the lowering sun. "And a good spot as well." He stood over us with his thumbs hooked on his heavy equipment belt. His feet were spread apart while he looked around the area, clearly on the guard for errant hoodies, purse snatchers, or attacking seagulls.

"Hello Joe," I answered him, while Martin mumbled under his breath.

"Just makin' my rounds," Joe said. "Keepin' the public safe."

Martin gave me the eye and I motioned for him to keep silent.

Joe took a deep breath and pounded his chest. "Ah, smell that sea air. Wonderful!"

Martin rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

Joe shrugged. "Just saying hello, Doctor Ellingham."

"Hello," I answered for Martin. "How are you?"

Joe smiled. "Right as rain, not that it's raining. Been quite a dry spell, hasn't it?"

Martin gave me a look, so I said to Joe, "Yes it has been dry. But now…" I waved at the blanket under me.

Joe grinned and tipped an imaginary hat. "Carry on," he said and then started to leave us, but he told us, "You two need… anything? You just call. Always on duty I am."

"Thanks, Joe. Good evening," I replied.

Martin held his tongue until Joe was well out of earshot. "As I was saying – Strain – anything could have happened to you and the baby. I ought to have sectioned him sooner, but I failed to see all the signs. It was only when the chemical tests were complete that I could confirm how ill he was."

To hear Martin express failure that way was astounding. "Doesn't matter." I looked hard at him. "It worked out you know."

"Know what?"

"Over there."

"Where?"

"Here in Rosscarrock Cove."

He cocked his head. "Yes? Now what about it?"

I pointed to the cliff base. "Right then I knew I could count on you."

He shrugged. "You called me so I came."

"On the double too. My rescuer."

"Humph. I did what had to be done. You did pack tissues, yes?" he looked into the hamper. "Here." He handed me a paper tissue.

I unfolded it to wipe my lips. "So many turnings."

"Hmm?"

"Funny, you know. You and me; our baby - back on the beach." Been an interesting journey the past three months. But we were back to where it almost started. The day Martin came running to save me and my students.

He took a bite of salad and chewed slowly.

"So, what if?" I tapped his knee. "What if?"

"Louisa, eat. You need sustenance."

I nibbled on my salad, but gave him a smile from time to time, while memories played in my head.


	88. Chapter 88

**Chapter 88 – On Track**

Thoughts of the first time Martin and I met (and I despised him after – or at least until he saved my eyesight), our long rocky road to a real relationship, our sudden engagement, the marriage that did not happen, my panicky escape to London, my ups and downs experiences in the great city, and then my return to Portwenn floated before my eyes. I looked around the waiting room at other expectant mums, but this time none of them were nearly as pregnant as I was. Yes, a long time had passed.

"Miss Glasson!" a nurse called out my name.

"Coming," I said as I levered myself from the clutches of the form-fitting plastic chair. Why do they make these things with a backward sloping seat cushion so you can't get out of them?

Martin's aunt pushed my back so I could get vertical. "Thank you Ruth," I told her.

"Looked like you needed a good shove," she said, rolling her eyes.

I sighed thinking that she had never been pregnant. But I was assuming that was the case. Perhaps she had been once? Ruth Ellingham was a perfect example of over-sharing some items and at others she'd not say a word, merely giving a shake of her head.

"Miss Glasson?" the nurse repeated, more urgently this time.

"Here. I'm coming or trying to."

I waddled after the nurse, feeling that my gait was more encumbered than only yesterday, but I suspected the baby had dropped for my breathing was easier.

The nurse looked at my ID, then took my weight. "Just a smidge over two and a half stone. Feeling well?"

I sighed. Thirty-five pounds? God. " _Fat_ is how I feel."

"I've had three; two girls and a boy," she told me. "Be glad this is your first. Each time I carried the baby got lower and lower because the muscles give. And stretch marks? Don't ask."

I wrinkled my nose. I had no intention of asking for those sorts of details.

The nurse smiled reassuringly. "All normal." She lead me first to the loo so I could give a urine sample, and then to an exam room, where I stripped down and put on a paper gown.

The doctor came in asked all the usual questions about wellness, sleeping, eating, toilet… Who knew that having a baby could be so invasive? Speaking of invasive she performed an exam of my belly and breasts, and then did a pelvic as I lay with my feet in bloody cold stirrups.

"You are one centimeter dilated, Miss Glasson. And the baby has dropped."

That made me take a deep breath. "Oh my." Wow. It's all closer than I imagined.

"You can sit up." The doctor binned her gloves then turned to the chart. "All on track. Still working?"

"Half days."

"You may want to consider starting your leave now."

"But I'm Head Teacher! My school, well we have another week left, and then some of the children will be dancing at Harbor Day, our annual end-of-school fest. I can't miss that!"

She nodded. "All the same you must rest. Is your partner supportive?"

"Supportive?" I bit my lip.

"Helpful, taking care of you, and so forth."

And so forth covered a lot of territory with Dr. Martin Ellingham such as hiding the chocolate digestives and practically carrying me about the house, asking about my heartburn and toilet, as well as staring at me with a critical doctor's eye when I'm in the bath. "He's fixing all our meals, won't let me walk home from school anymore, or do laundry, or carry anything heavy, so yes, he is taking care of me." I doubted she wanted to hear that we'd been spooning every night, although Martin usually slept on his back. The feel and support of his tall body against mine was comforting but I'd been sweating a lot under the bedclothes, but having his hands on me likely helped that along.

"Miss Glasson, the key thing is not to overdo anything. Right? Slow and steady wins the race. But your urine test shows no sign of sugar or proteins, your blood pressure and cardiac rates are good, and weight gain is spot on." She smiled. "A model mum and your baby's head is well engaged in your pelvis. Your baby is in perfect position."

And fat – a _fat_ model mum. "Been rather hot at night. And a lot of urinating." But the baby was fine, that was the important thing.

"Common," she told me. "Lighter weight nightgown or pyjamas, reduce the weight of your bedcoverings, that sort of thing. Avoiding caffeine?"

"God yes. Since I found out I was expecting."

"I wish all my patients were as careful. I asked because caffeine can promote sweating late in pregnancy." She looked at my chart. "Everything looks perfect for a thirty-seven week first time mum. No sign of elevated blood pressure, diabetes of pregnancy, or improper kidney output."

"Well, my fiancé, uhm, he's rather… I mean…"

" _Keen_ about your pregnancy. Some men can be."

Dare I say it was me who was excited being near Martin? Or just getting dressed was enough to make me feel 'hot'? Must be hormones and engorgement of all my sensitive tissues. Good Lord I was thinking like Martin! "We've been hugging a lot as well."

She smiled. "Good. Oxytocin is a hormone that arises in the brain and is elevated in pregnant woman as well as those in a relationship – especially those with a sexual bond. A simple hug with someone you care for can also give it a boost. Not exactly clear how it acts but it serves to reinforce 'good feelings' – a sense of contentment and safety… as well as romance."

"I see."

"It also rises sharply after delivery bonding you to your baby. Usually."

"And when it doesn't? Bonding _doesn't_ happen?"

"Some mums suffer birth trauma, which might be from physical causes or psychological. Post-partum depression may also arise from other factors. Have you chosen a name?"

I nodded. "James Henry. James as a first name from my grandfather and Henry as a middle name from his."

"Good. These are the sorts of things which help to connect you to your baby, before and after birth. Some mums have no feeling at all for their child, and that can create problems. But in your case I don't see any cause for concerns." She picked up a calendar. "Can you come in for a visit next week? The 14th in the afternoon? That's a Saturday."

"Harbor Day is on that day. Our annual…"

She said, "Look we're all booked up for the 13th. The 14th would be best. I'd like to monitor you. If your cervix continues to dilate we need to stay on top of it."

"But…" I took a deep breath. "No worries. Fine. Okay on the 14th."

"All on track. But if you see any spotting or bleeding, or cramping, you call us straight away. You mentioned a fiancé. You are engaged now?"

"We are yes." I rolled his grandmother's ring around my finger. "He's also our village GP."

She stared down at the notes on the desk. "Oh… Dr. Ellingham. Yes… well, ahem, he's…"

"With me. Yes he is."

She blinked rapidly and was likely thinking what a pain Martin could be.

"Have you met him?" I asked her.

"Uhm, no, not actually. Miss Glasson, remember that giving birth is a life-changing experience. You will experience massive changes before and after birth in both body and mind. Your fiancé, and you, ought to expect some – shall we say – _upheavals_ in your relationship. The baby alone is a huge change."

I bit my lip. "Been thinking about that."

My doctor smiled. "You'll be fine. See you next week. Saturday the 14th at 3 PM. Won't be long now Miss Glasson. Soon enough you'll be holding your son in your arms."

Fully clothed I shuffled out to meet Ruth hoping that I would be – _fine_ that is. I must have had an odd expression on my face, for Ruth launched herself out of her chair.

"Louisa?" she asked cautiously. "Alright?"

"Fine Ruth. All's good. The baby is fine. Right on track," I told her, but the thought of childbirth lay in my mind as rock solid and heavy as the baby I was carrying.


	89. Chapter 89

**Chapter 89 - Family, Friends and Strangers**

As I climbed from Ruth's car I said, "Thank you for driving me." My hip still ached a bit but it was much better than after the picnic. No sitting on rocky shores for a while, Louisa!

"Oh, my pleasure. Glad to take a long ride in the country and to get to know you a little better."

The way she said it didn't sound like she'd enjoyed it. "Come in for a cuppa? I don't see Martin's car so he's still out on that house call, I suppose."

She pursed her lips. "Don't mind if I do." She followed me up to the house. "I know that Joanie would have rather taken you but with her farm and the animals… Well, I was glad to drive you over."

Just as we got to the door, it opened and Pauline came out. "Ah, Lousier, the Doc called to say that he's still stuck on his call and that you oughta not wait supper for him. Expectin' he'll be late."

Ruth raised an eyebrow as she looked at her watch. "Perhaps supper instead of a cuppa? I hear the Crab and Lobster isn't half bad."

Pauline gave Ruth an odd look.

"It's okay, Pauline," I told her quietly.

Pauline cracked her gum then reached out to touch my belly. "Lor' Louiser, you poor thing. You're gonna pop if you haf'ta to carry that great lump around much longer!" Her fingers pressed in. "Feels like a well-filled water balloon."

Just what every preggers mum wanted to hear. Like when I called my friend Isobel the other day and she regaled me with her trials of nursing, along with cracked nipples, post -delivery urinary incontinence, a baby who cried all night and slept all day, and sluggish post-pregnancy weight loss.

I was prevented from making a smart reply to Pauline for Ruth told her, "Young lady, at _this_ stage of her pregnancy, Louisa really doesn't need _any_ reminders that she is carrying a nearly fully-formed infant inside her. Leastwise from you."

"Sorry," Pauline muttered. "You must be his aunt."

"Yes, I am. Ruth Ellingham. And you are?"

"Pauline Lamb," she said meekly.

"Martin's receptionist," I added. "And she's been doing all the blood samples for Martin as well."

Pauline smiled. "Got a certificate."

Ruth shook her hand stiffly. "Charmed. As a phlebotomist tech, I'm sure."

Pauline's face fell. "Yeah, that. But with Doctor Ellingham's… blood thing…," she shrugged, "you know."

Ruth waggled her head. "And I'm positive you are a great help to him."

I cleared my throat. "Thanks for the message Pauline. See you tomorrow."

"Right. Bye," Pauline barked then she flounced off.

Inside the house, Ruth said, "Bit of an attitude that one."

I set my handbag on the kitchen table. "Well, you know."

"No I don't."

I sighed. "In the village… well, there aren't… that many jobs or that many that are _special_. Pauline has a certificate, so…"

"And no one else has phlebotomy skills, other than Martin."

"Right." Ruth smiled. "I understand; I do. Just trying to get the lay of the land."

I looked hard at her. "Staying around longer? I thought you were only staying for a little while."

She smiled. "I'm not exactly at loose ends. I have a book I'm working on and I do find it rather restful here, even with the cackling of Joan's chickens. And besides, you'll be a mother before long. I've never had a great-nephew before. I may as well stick around to see him!"

I excused myself, visited the loo, and then checked the fridge and larder. "Hm, not much in there. Too late to get to the co-op."

Ruth took my arm. "Martin's away, it's nearly Happy Hour, and I'm famished. You?"

"I could eat. You know Pauline was likely put off by your comment about the pub. You see she's dating Al Large, Bert Large's son – as in Large _Restaurant_."

"Oh good God. I see I've gone balls-up with her over local restaurant rivalry. Do you think Pauline would forgive me if we ate at Bert's restaurant?"

"And my _mum_ is cooking for Bert."

"Well then this is my chance to meet your mother."

The ice was still thin over that pond. "Okay," I told her. "Let's go." I just hoped that things between me and mum would be _fine_ – not even okay – just on an even keel.

Pauline smiled awkwardly as she seated us at a table by the wall. "Just helping out today," she told Ruth. She handed us menus.

Ruth replied, "I do hope you'll forgive me. I'd no idea."

"You had no way of knowin.'" She turned towards me. "Water?"

"With ice, please, if you have any."

"And a large red for me," Ruth said.

The thought of a nice glass of wine made my mouth water. Soon enough Louisa, like in about a year. Some articles I read said that alcohol was okay, just in small amounts, but after getting a good lecture from Martin about it, I had resolved to stay well away from the stuff until after the baby was a year old, if I was still breast-feeding then.

Pauline left to get our drinks and then Bert ambled over to us. "Well, well, well. This is the Large Restaurant's lucky day! Two lovely ladies to grace us with their presence. Louisa, bless my soul, you are looking lovelier every day!"

And larger, I thought. "Hello Bert. This is Ruth Ellingham, Martin's aunt. Ruth, this is Bert Large."

Bert's face broke into a huge smile. "What a glorious day it is to meet Martin's other aunt! I am so glad to meet you at last! You look just like your sister! Bless my soul! And if I had any idea that the other Dr. Ellingham would be dining in my humble establishment…" Bert did everything but bend down to kiss her feet while he heaped glowing praise on her.

Ruth sat through it all with a bemused look. When Bert paused for breath she interrupted him. "And nice to meet one of Portwenn's entrepreneurs." She looked around the small terrace at the mismatched tables and chairs. "Nicely done."

"Little acorns; little acorns Dr. Ruth. Why who knows? This might be the start of an entire business enterprise? Large Restaurants all over this fine land," his hands waved across a panorama, "as well as England."

"Ah, a Cornishman through and through?"

He doffed his battered wool cap and held it to his heart. "Cornwall is my home and native land, yes. Please pardon my swipe at the fair country of England, but you see Cornwall _ought_ to not be just a County, but a separate…"

Ruth held up her hand. "Mr. Large I would be glad to discuss the history and governance of Cornwall, present and ancient, at some other time. Now look! The evening is young and the sun is still up. The sea breeze is fine. Louisa and I have come for a meal, and some pleasant talk. _No_ politics, please."

Bert bowed his head and slapped his hat back onto his head. "Ah, of course. I do apologize. Now tonight we have a wonderful seafood repast which your mum has put together, Lousier. A nice white fish steeped in a broth of the finest sea creatures. Lobster, crab, mussels, with a dash of this and that. Served with rice."

It sounded lovely.

Bert went on. "Or we have broiled chicken. Or toad in the hole, fish and chips, or bangers and mash. And then we have our sandwich selection."

The collision of finer cuisine with Bert's usual fare was interesting. Ruth dipped her head and I nodded back at her, so I said to Bert, "Two of the seafood specials, please."

"There's a very nice garden salad as well," he said meekly.

"Two of those. Salad first," Ruth threw out.

Bert bowed. "As you command." He went into the house and began to yell.

Ruth whispered, "Is he always like that?"

I smiled. "Bert is Bert. Known his since I was quite small. Sorta of a father figure in some ways."

Pauline brought our drinks. "I heard Bert giving you the big hello. Don't mind him. He _is_ nice. He just goes on a bit."

Ruth lifted her glass to her mouth and sipped. "A nice wine, thank you. No worries Pauline." She looked past my shoulder. "It would seem Louisa, that someone that I gather is you mother is heading this way. My mum radar is going off."

I turned my head in time to see mum, wiping her hands on a towel, before she stooped down to kiss my cheek. "My little Lou-lou. How's the babe cooking?"

Ruth raised an eyebrow.

My voice quivered as I said, "Hello mum. He's fine and so am I. Mum? This is Martin's aunt Ruth."

Ruth stood up and shook mum's hand. "Ruth Ellingham. You're Eleanor."

Mum parked a hand on her hip in a provocative way. "I expect _you_ heard a _lot_ about _me_ from _Louisa_."

"No," Ruth answered her calmly. "Not much."


	90. Chapter 90

**Chapter 90 – Confessions with croutons**

Startled, Ruth Ellingham looked up at my mother. "Your daughter hasn't told me much of anything. Nothing really," she said.

Mum crossed her arms. "Humph. Like I can believe that."

I butted in. "Mum, Martin's aunt is just being, uhm, well she's in the village on holiday."

"That's right," Ruth replied. "And I'm having a lovely time with my sister and nephew, and this young lady. As well as Joanie's cackling chickens," she grimaced at the end. "Do you know that they wake up _before_ dawn?"

My mum and Ruth glared across the table like… well I don't know what. No that was wrong. I did know. They were each defending their turf. But why?

Mum sighed. "Bert said you too ordered the fish special."

"That's right," Ruth answered. "Mr. Large recommended it."

Mum smiled. "That is nice. Good to hear that I can do somethin' right once in a while."

Ruth smiled grimly. "Life can't be all roses, can it? No matter how much we might wish for it."

Mum laughed but then she then bent down and hugged me around the shoulders. "You'll like the entrée. I used to make it… uhm," her face fell, "down in Spain."

"Mum's partner died last year," I told Ruth.

Mum swiped a hand across her eyes. "Water under the bridge. He were a lovely man, most of the time." She released me from the hug and stood up, but her left hand lingered on my shoulder. "Now you dad, Lou-lou, him and me… well it a long time ago, before you were born. Him and me - like that," her right hand displayed crossed fingers.

"Peas in a pod," Ruth replied. "Sorry about your friend."

"Javier. But Terry and me, used to be like that."

Was mum telling a story? Making it up? I peered at my mother as she spoke.

"I met Louisa's dad at a rock concert. Don't recall who was playing or what the music was but it was at Tintagel."

"Probably the Summer Fair," I muttered.

"Right you are Lou-lou! Terry was from right here. I was down from Exeter with some friends on a ramble." She shook her head. "All so long ago now. Flower Power and Free Love! Ha! Those were the days."

The baby kicked as if to say he knew something about love and what it can cause.

Ruth laughed. "Oh yes, I do recall some of it."

Mum echoed Ruth's laugh. "Me too! _Some_ of it. But when this one come along," she squeezed my shoulder, "I left all that behind."

My mouth fell open. Did my mother just say that she had used drugs? Well if she had used drugs back then, she just said aloud she had stopped it entire – and for me.

Ruth smiled. "Eleanor, it has been nice to meet you but we shouldn't keep you; I'm sure you have to work."

Mum looked around the terrace which was nearly empty of diners. "Not that busy. The girl can keep things going in there. Leastwise for a few minutes." She pulled a chair over and sat down next to me. "And if Bert don't like it, he can stuff it," she muttered.

I looked at Ruth pointedly so she sat down. "Mum? Things not going so well in the kitchen?"

"I told you that his high-and-mighty has lots of ideas about running a place like this," she whispered. " _Most_ of which are daft."

Just then Pauline came out carrying a tray with our salads. Silently she plunked the plates piled with an interesting salad in front of us, and then retreated.

Mum watched her go with obvious distaste.

Ruth watched the spectacle silently, but then she dug into her salad. "This does look nice."

"All local veg," Mum told her. "And the croutons I made myself, instead of that horrible pre-made stuff that Bert wanted me to use. Just stale bread - a decent bread mind you, then some spices and olive oil and bake 'em."

I tried one and the flavor was very Mediterranean. "Very nice. I like the dressing."

"Just oil, vinegar, and more spices." She patted my back. "Glad you like it." She climbed to her feet, but paused.

"It _is_ good, as I said," Ruth reiterated. "Anything else?"

Mum shook her head. "No." But then she went around the table to Ruth, bent down and whispered something to her, which went on for some time.

I saw Ruth's eyes open, and she got a crooked smile. Martin's aunt put her fork down and listened intently. "I see," she muttered.

Mum bobbed her head. "Yeah. It was like that," I heard her say. Then she gave me a frown and strode back to the kitchen.

I waited until mum was out of earshot. "What was that all about? What did she say?"

Ruth held up her hand. "It wasn't a confession, if that's what you're thinking."

"But what? What did she say?" My voice shook. "Was it about my dad or me?" Now I was mad. All sorts of nasty possibilities came to mind. God! Thanks mum – a whole bunch.

Ruth sighed. "No, my dear. Now eat your salad."

"Ruth! I hadn't planned that she'd… tell you whatever it was… and if it didn't upset you it sure as bloody hell upset me!" I started to scoot my chair so I could chase her down and have it out with her. Damn it!

"Louisa!" Ruth grabbed at my arm. "Sit down and _calm_ yourself. I'll tell you… but only if you promise to compose yourself."

I slammed my chair and squared with the table. "Fine," I answered frostily.

"Drink some water dear, and then take a few deep breaths. Getting upset over this does no one, least of all you, any good. Nothing to get upset over. The opposite."

I supped from my glass. "O-kay. Sorry Ruth, it's only… that… _me_ and my _mum_ …"

"A history, yes. We and our parents all have _things_." She put a forkful of salad into her mouth and chewed slowly. "You've heard about the Ellingham's and the Glasson's aren't that much different. Not really, if you look at it from the right perspective"

"Right."

Ruth grinned. "Your mother told me that she was a crap mum, but that she's tried to find peace with that. Accept it, as it were, and she claims that you are the better for her having run away to Spain all those years ago."

I sighed. "Yeah, well, I know that, I mean we've talked about it." I felt my lips quiver. "Only…"

"Only you wish that things _then_ had been different for it all would have changed everything _now_." She smiled. "Like you and she would be friends."

I didn't think of mum as my friend; she'd let me down too many times. "But, Ruth, it's like this…"

"Louisa, your mother just told me that she was trying to start over with you."

"Yeah, know that."

"She also told me that she was glad that you found Martin."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Now eat."

Pauline brought us the fish special and it was good; very.

Ruth and I ate in silence as I assumed that she was much like Martin in that way. We ate and drank, but when Ruth consumed all the seafood on her plate she laughed. "You know I hated my mother for she tried to drive away the man who would have made me happy."

"Ah."

Ruth drained her wine glass. "Yes. Alfred Duckworth was his name. He's been dead for quite a while." She sighed. "But it was nice, while it lasted."

"I see. Did you meet him at university?"

"Just before."

I waited for more details but Ruth stayed silent. I leaned across to her, as much as my belly would allow. "I'm sorry."

She ducked her head. "Thank you, Louisa. He was eighteen years older than me, you see, and was our neighborhood Police Constable. Mummy said it wouldn't do. We were better than that, said she." She sighed unhappily. " _Not_ of our class," she sniffed.

I looked carefully at her lined face and gray hair, but saw what the girl underneath must have looked like then. "You were young."

"Nineteen. I had taken a gap year and was working at a clinic as a clerk before I started my schooling." She shook her head. "Shame really. My first and one true love. Spring and winter as they say."

I smiled. "What happened?"

She twirled the remnants of red wine around in her glass. "You know. The thrill of new romance, the heat of passion, plus secret rendezvous; all that."

"Yes."

She gave out a vast sigh. "But it all went, you know."

"That happens."

Ruth drank off the last few drops of her wine. "Back in those days I wasn't very savvy about birth control."

"Oh dear."

"Yes, oh dear." The old lady looked right at me, but sort of through me. "It was a shock you know, when I finally figured things out. But also a relief in a way. I wasn't certain about uni, and then it happened. So I would not go to university. I wasn't very far along; not showing yet. So I met Alfred straight away in a park and we talked about what to do, when to marry – had to be quick – right?"

When we first spoke on the phone weeks back she'd said she'd never had the chance to be a mother. "But then what? Oh, you don't have to say."

She sighed. "He and I were going to a vicar in an out of the way church. Taxi accident. The cabby ran a stop signal and a lorry hit us, full throttle."

"Oh no!"

Ruth smiled her crooked smile. "Alfred and our baby died you see."

Tears leaped to my eyes. "Oh my God!"

"Yes… took me months to recover. I'm pretty certain that mummy never knew – about the baby – but daddy must have. He was head of surgery at hospital. Surely he was told, all hush-hush of course. Our sort of people and all that rot. Surely he was told."

"Ruth that's just horrible! I… I'm… so sorry you had to lose them both."

"Thank you," she said softly. "And the damage? Let's just say that was my one and one only foray into motherhood."

I looked from Ruth's lined face back towards Bert's kitchen door, and I saw my mother peeking out. "So sad."

Ruth looked down at her watch. "Hm. Nearly the middle of July. His birthday would have been about now. Funny that. He would have been fifty-seven this year."

I struggled out of my seat, went around the table to hug and kiss Ruth, and then shuffled over to my mum to plant a kiss on her cheek.

"Why Lou-lou, what's this about?" she asked as she put her arms around me.

"Mum, I'm just glad that you're here is all."

Eleanor put her hand on my belly. "Can't miss this little one, now can I?" she chuckled.

Over mum's shoulder I saw Ruth Ellingham sitting stock still, gazing out to sea.

 **Author's note:**

 **Does anybody really know what time it is?**

 **Portwenn is the land of magic time. It seems to be set in the present, and it has been said by the producers there may be two or three weeks between TV episodes. For that matter it never rains, and it's always summer. Time in the village is rather fluid, but we sense that James Henry was born on a Saturday in July.  
**

 **Lousia was "thirty seven, pregnant, and single in a bedsit in London" in the winter after their abortive first attempt at marriage. Caroline Catz, the alter ego of Lousia Glasson was actually born in 1970 (we think). If the actress was 37, then that was 2007.**

 **However, just to confuse things even more it was 2009 when they filmed Series 4, the last episode of which, "The Wrong Goodbye", JH was born (and Caroline Catz was actually 39 then). But she WAS 37 years old in 2007 when they filmed Series 3! Aha!**

 **Dame Eileen Atkins (Aunt Ruth) was born in 1934. If her character was 19 when she met her lover Alfred Duckworth, that would be 1953. If in Portwenn it is 2009, then the baby boy she lost would have been 54 (2009 - 1953). But, since time is slow (they only film every two years), then we can safely add 3 years to whole mess, and call it 2012. So her late son being 57, meant he would have died in-utero in 1953. But Ruth is an old woman so she maybe wrong about the dates.  
**

 **But based on when Series 3 was filmed it must be 2009... perhaps... I think. But does it matter anyway?**

 **But as I was asking, what time is it really? Haven't the foggiest idea! :) The Portwenn Effect strikes!  
**


	91. Chapter 91

**Chapter 91 – Beginning**

Later that evening, long after supper was ended and Ruth had left, I was sitting on our sofa waiting for Martin come home. I'd spent some time reviewing end of term schoolwork, finished that off, and then started reading a novel that Sally Chadwick had lent me.

I read ten pages and in shock remembered I'd read it long ago. In a flash I knew the whole story, front to back, so I flipped to the back of the book to read the final lines. Tucked in there was a snippet adapted from T. S. Elliot's poem _Little Gidding_. I read the words aloud.

" _Sharon stepped from the taxi, paid the driver, and watched while it drove away. She stood for some little time in the dusk, and then finally summoning her courage she turned her feet to his cottage door. They'd parted on bad terms, and she was very uncertain what might happen. Her heart fell. What if he didn't want her to come back? Where would she go? He was her last resort after the dust-up with her family._

 _Every journey ends as another begins, she thought. In some wonder she watched her arm raise itself and then firmly knock with confidence on Timothy's door._

 _She heard his heavy footsteps approach, and then the door sprang open. He looked out at her in great surprise surprise._

" _I've come back," she told him. "I hope it's alright."_

 _In one motion he sprang from the cottage and pulled her into his arms. As he placed his lips on hers, Sharon recalled the lines of the poem._

 _ **What we call the beginning is often the end  
When we make an end is also to make a new beginning.  
For every end is where we start a new journey.**_ _"_

I had to wipe tears off my face. It was the story of me and Martin. Sharon loved Timothy, but his muddled past made her uncertain so she had left him for she was too fearful to love him for who he was, and not for who she imagined he could be.

I was certain that raging hormones had a lot to do with my tears, but all the same the book spoke to me. I closed the book and turned it over to gaze at the cover. "Arrival" the title was.

"Right. That's me; I came back." I put my hands on my bump. "You too; you came with. The whole way, didn't you?" The fictional Timothy's past wasn't like Martin's and I certainly hadn't been quite as virtuous as the virginal Sharon, but it was nearly the same. She desired things to change which could not be changed. Their past was fixed both in fact and memory. "Yep that's us," I sniffled.

At that moment the back door opened and Martin crept in. "Louisa?" he asked. "It's late. Why aren't you in bed?" He deposited his shoes by the door and I saw how filthy there were.

I raised the book. "Been reading and waiting for you as well."

"Ah." He looked around the kitchen. "Sorry I'm late."

"You okay?"

He nodded. "I tried to call, but had no signal, then found the mobile battery was flat and the charger cable in the Lexus had a fault."

I struggled upright. "Have you eaten?"

"No. You?"

"Had supper with your Aunt Ruth."

"I see."

I crossed the room to hug him briefly. "Thank you."

"For?"

I shrugged. "Oh, stuff."

His eyes darted back and forth. "I'll just…" he hefted his medical bag.

"You ditch that, then go wash up. I'll fix something for you to eat." He started to speak, but I shushed him. "My pleasure," I told him.

"Fine."

I watched him head towards surgery. Shortly he was back with me after using the washroom. I was poking around in the fridge and as I turned holding eggs and a rasher I found him looking at me very oddly. "Eggs alright? Martin?"

He sighed. "That house call I had to make?"

The look in his eyes told me much and it wasn't good. "A bad one then."

He sighed. "Mr. Jenkins."

"Lives out near the closed tin mine?"

"Yes," he grunted. "Raging diabetes and high blood pressure! House was a mess of rubbish and rotted food. And he has a goat in his house! Gawd!"

"He is very old…"

"Ninety."

"So," I put the bowl of eggs, the bacon, and a round of Wenslydale on the counter. "This alright? Not much else in the house."

He sat heavily at the table. "That would be satisfactory… I mean… good."

I knew if there was more to tell he say it, but only in time. I got the cooker going and soon bacon was sizzling. I put on the other pan to heat. "Omelet?"

"Fine," he grunted. "I'll slice the bread." He got up, and gathering what was needed, began to slice the good crusty bread our baker made every day.

I grinned at Martin as he worked and looking up he caught my look.

"What's that grin for?" he asked.

"Everything. You, me; us." I whisked the broken eggs into a nice yellow froth, then added salt (just a pinch) and pepper. "I'll add cheese to this as well." I quickly whacked the cheese into rough pieces so they would melt faster.

He stacked bread slices on a plate. "Us." He came to me and hugged me briefly. "How did your doctor appointment go?"

"Fine." I bit my lip. "I'm starting to dilate a teeny bit."

Suddenly he grabbed the whisk out of my hand, pulled a chair away from the table and made me sit down. "How much?" he asked. "Any signs of labor?"

I took a deep breath. "Centimeter and a half. No, no twinges."

He shook his head. "You _have_ been overdoing things. I told you!"

"No, no I haven't. I _have_ been resting. Only working half day and I'm only dilated less than three quarters of an inch, plus the baby's not due for three weeks."

"Louisa! I want you to leave work. Starting tomorrow!"

"Martin, the school term ends Friday! So don't get upset."

"Upset? _Upset_?"

"I knew you'd do this."

"Do what?" he bellowed.

"Go ballistic. Bonkers. Over react."

He screwed his eyes shut and exhaled from his nose with a loud hiss. "Louissssa…"

"Martin, our baby is _fine_ and so am I. Just three weeks away from my due date. These things…"

"I don't want you to give birth to a premature baby, Louisa! God! Do you have any idea of the possible problems with a pre-term delivery?"

I touched his arm. "No need to panic. I'm not in labor. It's all fine – all good." Tendrils of smoke started to billow up from the pan. "Your bacon needs to be turned."

"God." He flipped the bacon. "Louisa, I…" he gulped. "I know that cervical dilation is normal late in pregnancy, only..."

I stood and took his hand, still holding the spatula. "No need to panic. I'm not made of candy floss. I won't fall apart. Now, will you allow me to cook your supper or will you banish me to a darkened upstairs room as I approach my _confinement like in days of old_?"

"A ghastly practice." Silently he gave me the other spatula. "You may cook the eggs."

I set to work. "Mar-tin, don't get all hyper-protective."

He stared out the window for a few seconds. When he spoke his words were soft. "I was merely expressing my concern for your condition."

"Thank you, Martin. Thanks for looking after me. Now, your eggs are nearly ready. You want coffee?"

"Too much caffeine. Tea."

I set the kettle to heating. I dumped the cheese onto the nearly-done eggs, then folded the egg in half to cover the cheese. In a minute his eggs were cooked. Omelet and bacon went a plate and I put it in front of him. "Now eat. Kettle will be hot soon."

He nodded at me then sat down to supper.

"There's jam for the bread as well." I pushed the bowl of butter and jam jaw over to him. He lightly buttered one piece of bread then chewed it slowly.

He looked up from his meal. "Louisa, thank you. Uhm, for this. It's quite good."

"Glad you're enjoying it." The kettle began to sing in short order so I poured hot water into a teapot with the black tea he liked. "There."

Martin worked his way through the food almost mechanically so I sat down to watch him. He said, "This is what Perkins told me."

"Perkins? You mean Mr. Jenkins?"

"Whatever."

"What did he tell you?"

"The man's a widower," Martin replied.

"His wife died, oh, long time back. Before I was in form four, I think."

Martin finished his meal and set down his fork. He poured the steeped tea into a mug, added one sugar, then sipped.

"Black?" I shuddered. "Sorry there's no milk." Black tea put me off.

He grimaced at the tea, but drank more. "This is fine. My patient, well, he said he missed this. Company." He waved his hand across the table. "And eating with someone."

"What could you do for him? I know you can't talk about medical things."

"Well the fact that I drove him into Bodmin to hospital may tell you something. The ambulance was delayed."

"Very sick then."

He bobbed his head. "Not if you call compromised peripheral circulation healthy."

"Meaning?"

"He may lose a toe."

I shuddered. "Oh my."

"Social Services may be able to help clean up his home. His biggest concern was about his goat. God. He demanded that I get a neighbor to come care for it – promise to feed it."

"His other family?"

"All moved away, or dead," Martin grunted.

"Shame. Perhaps the church ladies can pitch in."

"Right." Martin toyed with his mug. "Made me think though."

"About what?"

"You said it before – _us_ – and the old man, alone in his decrepit house. That hammered it home for me. If we hadn't met, or got together…"

I looked hard at him for Martin never talked like this. "What _are_ you saying?"

He coughed but then replied, "I came down from London, convinced that I'd be a loner down here."

"But you're not are you?" I patted his hand, which took mine. "Not anymore."

"Louisa, if we – uhm – this, _you_ , didn't happen, I might have ended up like my patient; old, isolated, and alone."

I could only smile. "So your London's end was our new beginning, was it?"

He grunted. "But your return as well, to the scene of our…" his hand waved.

"Yes, I know. But where else would I have gone? Hmm? So it's all been a fresh start it seems – both of us."

Martin took a drink from his mug then lowered it, his eyes almost looking happy. "Appears so." His fingers held mine firmly.

 **Author's note:**

 **T. S. Elliot's (1988 – 1965) was an American writer and poet. He lived much of his life in England. The poem 'Little Gidding' was published in September 1942 in England.**

 **It was the final of four poems (Four Quartets) which examined how time is linked through past, present, and future. It was posited that unity of time is required for personal redemption. The name refers to the fictional town which was the focus of the piece.**

 **His burial plaque in the Church of St. Michael's and All Angels (in East Coker, Somerset) bears his epitaph - lines which were chosen from the Four Quartets: "In my beginning is my end. In my end is my beginning."**


	92. Chapter 92

**Chapter 92 – Burdens**

I guess I was wool-gathering when Sally Chadwick's voice burst into my thoughts. "Just about done aren't we?"

I looked up from the papers strewn across my school desk for I was still battling them. Sally was leaning on the doorpost, so I turned from the laptop and shook my head to clear it. "Sorry. Done with what?" I didn't sleep well so this morning was a blur.

She smiled and came into the room. "School year. And…"

I saw she was staring at my eye-popping bump. I looked down and stroked it. "Yes, thank heavens." This morning it was definitely lower and _bigger_ but at least I could breathe better without it pressing on my diaphragm. My bladder, on the other hand, was not happy in its new job of helping support a baby-filled uterus.

"Hard to believe that it's just three months since you came back to the village. To all this…" her hand waved around the room, "in all its glory."

The piles of paper mocked me for despite my seeming attention to them; any progress in organizing the annual report was going downhill instead of the other way. "Wonderful isn't it?" I chortled.

Sally sat down. "So…"

"So?"

"So I was thinking that maybe next year…" Her hands twisted together nervously and she cleared her throat more than once.

"Okay now, Sally what's going on?"

She shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Getting restless I suppose. My cousin has a shop down Falmouth way and she's asked to join her; uhm, running it like."

My heart sank. "Sally you have been such a big help to me. But of course if that's your decision, then what can I do?"

She smiled miserably. "It's not you. She's been after me for ages to help her. Her mother, my aunt, was my favorite one. She always hoped I'd help take the shop on. My cousin isn't so good with money or figures."

"Yes, and you've certainly been a huge help to me with squaring things away after Mr. Strain was gone."

She shook her head. "Heard anything about him?"

"Gosh no. I suppose Martin has heard a thing or two but he's zip lip about his patients." That much was true mostly.

Sally nodded. "Yes, I know. He… well I had this little problem. He helped me and I'm grateful. But… anyway…"

I sighed. "You're leaving the school."

She smiled a sad smile. "Yes. I will. I am."

The baby kicked and I jumped. "Sorry Sally. This little boy is doing jumping jacks and I'd better see to my water works."

I saw how she looked at me with concern as I struggled to stand up. "Poor Louisa. Just a couple weeks left."

"Martin's been bugging the hell out of me to leave work. But Friday the kids are done and then that's it for this term. So yeah – a couple of weeks. And then…"

"You'll be a mum. Oh that's just Doc Martin; a caring sort no matter what people might say about him."

"I know. Now if you'll excuse me I'd better…" I tossed my head towards the loo.

"Right."

I stopped in the doorway. "Thank you Sally, for all your hard work."

She smiled. "I was so happy to see you return here and now _I'm_ the one heading off."

"It's alright, really." I waddled down to the staff washroom with relief, but sitting on the toilet I was overcome. Tears flowed freely and I used quite a bit of tissue to wipe my face. It was all changing and not just my waistline. I felt the enormity of it all start to wash over me. The baby, our engagement, mum, needing a child minder at end of summer, end of the school year; all of it. It was as piled up in my head like the papers stacked on my desk. And it felt like I'd been carryin' this baby forever!

After a good little cry, mostly silent, I flushed the toilet, struggled upright, and got my clothing back in order. At the sink I washed my hands, but had to stand sideways to reach the faucets. My reflection showed the tremendous curve of my belly counter balanced by the rearward slant of my back and shoulders. Lordosis, Martin called it; the backwards shift of the backbone to offset the mass of the baby. "Lor," I muttered, "Louisa you're even starting to think like Martin." But that wasn't so hard was it? Martin was very good at calling things what they were, not what people wanted them to be, and factually? Well he always had a head full of facts, but how to use them was his downfall sometimes.

I washed my face and dabbed away most of the red puffiness. "There," I told the glass. "Miss Glasson, Head Teacher extraordinaire, is back on duty." I forced a smile.

The door to the hall opened and I heard Tasha say, "There, Louisa, don't you look nice."

Tasha looked rather peaked herself. "You okay?"

"Oh yeah, yeah. Getting those little buggers to pay attention at dance practice is driving me bonkers, and Tommy goes on and on about building up his taxi business." She sighed. "Most times it seems like I meet myself coming and going."

Her hair looked scraggly, her face was lined and just standing at my side she looked very, very tired. "You know if the kids don't dance at the fair it would be fine."

She held a hand in protest. "No, no. I signed on for this gig. Have to finish it."

"I mean, the dance is… anyway. Not like the school is making you do it. It's extra."

"And I thought of it."

"Not much opportunity for dance in the village is there." She'd been teaching couple's dance for a few months at the village hall. Having some of the kids perform on Harbor Day was just further work for her. She sniffled, and I drew away. "You are sick!"

"No, no, just dust. I was up in the attic with Mr. Colley finding things for the troupe. We found a box of cowboy hats. Won't that look cute on the kids?"

I wasn't sure what cowboy hats had to do with a fishing village in Cornwall, but I let it go. Tasha was a dancer at heart, no matter her circumstance. Teaching P.E. and having her fill-in was about all I could offer her from the school. "Right."

"Oh don't mind me, Louisa. After I tucked Suzie into bed, Tommy and I were working out in the shed. A new idea he's had about saving money." She yawned. "Got to bed about one AM."

"Go home, Tash. Get some rest."

She squinted at her wrist watch. "Can't. Class."

That made me look at my watch. "Oh God. I'll be late for lunch. Martin will be furious I'm still at school! I promised I'd only work half days."

Tasha's hand touched mine. "Be strong my girl."

I laughed. "And what choice do I have?"

Tasha shook her head but her eyes grinned back at me. "Don't you take any crap off him."

"I don't, it's just… well he can be right, a lot of the time."

"Just like my Tommy," she muttered. "Men always _think_ they are right. Now off you get – home. Me for those kids, just waiting for exercise!" she cackled with glee.

I looked her up and down. "Get some rest, right?"

"Sure, sure," she yawned. "I will."


	93. Chapter 93

**Chapter 93 – Pleasantly Pregnant**

As I opened the kitchen door, I could hear Martin yelling.

"No, no, NO!" His voice cut through the thick walls like a hot knife through better. "How many times?"

A high-pitched voice mumbled in reply.

"Well, I don't care what Dave the Postie says! Is he a doctor? Or how about the lifeguard at the leisure center? Hm? If your car was acting up would have PC Penhale attend to it? Good GOD!"

"Don't have a car," the female voice answered bravely. "Can't afford one! And I' not working, at the moment!"

Martin groaned. "Look…"

I saw Pauline approach his consulting room door, her platform shows clomping loudly. "Doc!" Pauline squawked through the door. "Lunch time!" She looked up and saw me, giving a shrug as if to say, "Nothing I can do about him today." Wagging her head she knocked on the door. "Doc Martin, Louisa Glasson is home."

I distinctly heard Martin grunt then his office door flew open and Morwenna Newcross limped out, but seeing me she made sharp turn and hobbled into our kitchen. " _Hello_ Louisa, so I was wondering…"

Martin followed her closely. "What are you doing? This is my, uhm, our house. You can't just go anywhere you please!"

I scowled at him and he shut it. "Morwenna, How are you?"

"Fine, I suppose, but our GP sure doesn't like hearing how I messed up taking antibiotics."

Martin ducked her head. "If you women wouldn't persist in wearing _unsuitable_ footwear…"

His comment about women and our shoes made me bristle. "Martin she can wear whatever she likes."

Morwenna perked up. "Right you are, Louisa. I was walkin' on the beach and a shell cut right through my flip-flop. Told you." She stuck out her left foot to display a flesh colored bandage. "And the medicine he had me takin' was makin' me sick to my stomach, see? So Dave told me…"

Martin waved his hands about. "We've _already_ gone over that… uhm… Norma."

" _Morwenna_ … Morwenna _Newcross_." She crossed her arms. "Now, if you _don't_ mind I was talkin' to your Miss Glasson."

Martin's eyes changed from his angry look and his face looked at the floor. "Yes, right. Lunch time." He went to the sink and washed his hands thoroughly.

"Now, as I was sayin'," Morwenna added pointedly.

"How can I help you?"

She smiled. "Isn't it obvious? You're gonna have a baby. Pretty soon too."

My back started to ache and I rubbed the spot. "I've sort of noticed that, yes."

"And in a little while, maybe a few weeks, or less, you might want some help with the little thing? Watchin' it, or running errands; if you need a rest or sumpthin'."

Martin turned his head to say something but I warned him off with a look. "Go on." I pulled a chair from under the table and gratefully plopped on it. I pointed to the next chair. "Join me."

The girl sat down opposite me, her face shining in anticipation. "So what do you think?"

Martin crossed behind me to the fridge and took and a container of vegetable soup, took it to the cooker, poured the soup into a pan, and methodically began stirring it after flipping on the current.

"Have you done much child minding?" I asked. "How old are you now?"

Morwenna took a deep breath and shook her head _no_. "But I'm a quick learner. Twenty-two my last birthday."

Martin coughed to call attention to her comment, but I ignored him.

"Well, I've never had a baby either, so I'll be a beginner myself."

Martin's head whipped around and his eyes flashed. "Training required."

I nodded. "Yes as Martin has just reminded me, we would like our child minder to have CPR training. Could you do that?"

She bit her lip. "Sure… the breath of life. When I was a Girl Scout the church ladies put on a program to use that heart shocker… up at the Town Hall."

"AED," Martin threw out. "Automatic External Defibrillator. It can shock a mal-beating heart back into rhythm, or start it if it's stopped."

"Right," I added, "Like you used on Holly."

He stirred the soup slowly. "Yes. And if you pass the CPR training, I would want you to have a complete checkup, including a TB test."

"Of course. Whatever you want, I can do it." The girl answered. "So how about it? And before the baby comes I could help here, if you want. Oh I don't know, cleaning or doing the shopping?"

The girl's pleading look said it all. "Let me talk to Martin about it."

He turned. "Are you prompt? Regular in your habits?"

"Oh yes sir!"

He frowned. "Humph. You were late for your appointment this morning."

She sighed. "I _told_ you I was late 'cause I was sick. And walkin' all the way up here isn't much of a treat." She looked at my belly. "You know that."

I sighed. "Yes. Bit of a backache today."

Martin's head twisted around. "What?"

"Nothing. Just… you know."

I could only imagine his mind was whirling. "I'm fine," I smiled at Morwenna. "Not pleasantly pregnant, but happily pregnant. Maybe more like _eagerly_ pregnant just now. Eager to get on with it."

Morwenna grinned. "Pleasantly pregnant?"

That was the golden month. Ought I to tell her it was after the morning sickness eased, and my breasts really started growing? Or that my nipples had already been tingling for weeks and they were now getting huge and dark? It must have been the morning I was got on the Tube and I definitely had a belly, it was there, it was round and cute and clearly was a _pregnant_ belly; not fat, and everyone who looked at me smiled so I smiled back at them.

It was only later when my belly got really large that being pregnant was unpleasant, more of a burden to carry to the finish line - which was not that far away now.

I beamed at Morwenna. "I was healthy and so was the baby and I felt…" I saw Martin staring at me, in that cautious way of his with fine lines at the corners of his eyes. "I was gonna be a mum – and I was happy about it."

"I see," Morwenna said. "When you up in London."

I nodded. "Right."

She looked at Martin. "You came back though."

"Right."

Morwenna frowned. "Good. Wish my mum and dad had come back, but I suppose they found living overseas suited them."

I knew that her grandfather had raised her. "And how is your grandfather?"

"Oh Grandad's fine," she glanced at her watch. "Lord I'd better get home to fix his lunch or he'll wander off with whoever feeds him." She stood up. "Is it a deal?"

Martin studiously went back to his pot and pointedly ignored us.

"I'll talk to Martin," I whispered, but I shook her hand.

Morwenna nodded. "Right," she said, and then she fairly skipped out of the room.

I watched Martin as stirred the soup slowly as if he was caressing the liquid with the spoon. But he didn't do anything half way – he did it accurately and properly. "So…"

"That teenager…"

"She's a young woman, Martin, and she needs a job."

"With a poor taste in foot gear," he sniffed. The soup spoon made another circuit. "Pleasantly pregnant?"

I got up, crossed the room, and put my arms around his broad back. "Yep." Then I felt him relax.

"I see," he muttered.

"It's all good Martin." I told him, and then I kissed his cheek.

"Right," he answered.

 **Author's note:**

 **A thank you to my wife for the term "pleasantly pregnant," and the definition thereof.**


	94. Chapter 94

**Chapter 94 – Down To The Wire**

Now it was a matter of waiting and waiting, and perhaps a bit of wishing as well; as in wishing it was all over.

For one thing everyone in the village was on baby watch with me. It wasn't like I was the only pregnant mum in town, but there certainly was an enormous interest about me and Martin, for as Head Teacher I was conspicuous. Martin was unmistakable too, just in a different way. Look at it this way, I was born and bred here, and other then my years at uni and working in Wales for three years, I'd spent my entire life here. Martin was an outsider of course, and though he'd lived here four years it was no surprise he'd always be an interloper. Not that people shunned him, but he wasn't _Cornish_ , and he had his own too-direct way of saying things.

Take Pauline and the way he could set her off. She was whinging today about how she wished she might do more in the medicine field, so he told her, "Then quit and take a nursing course. You attempted to do that before."

Of course she flounced off in a huff, muttering, "Fine! I know when I'm not wanted!" It was just at the end of the day so she closed down her computer, and slammed the front door when she left.

"That might have not been the best way to say that," I told him as I lay on the sofa with my puffy feet and ankles propped up on pillows.

"It's true," he replied. "Pauline is constantly going on about maybe. _Maybe_ I ought to quit. _Maybe_ I should go to school. _Maybe_ I should marry Al…"

"Pauline is young Martin, and she was probably looking for some encouragement."

"Humph. Do it or don't but _stop_ banging on about it." He sighed. "Louisa, I don't… uhm, if she wants to go then she should go. She _is_ smart enough for nursing school."

"You should tell her that. You _could_ have said that she is smart enough to become a trained nurse and you'd be glad to give her a reference."

He sighed once more. "I see."

"Martin I am _not_ making a _personal_ criticism. Got it? It's not what you say sometimes, it's how you say it."

His face fell further and then he walked away to the kitchen where he opened and closed cupboards briskly.

With an effort I levered myself upright and trailed him. Touching his arm I said, "Please don't think I'm ripping on you."

He opened the fridge and took out a package of fish. "I bought these today."

"Looks good." Grunting, I sat down.

In a flash he knelt at my side. "Are you okay? What's happening?"

My stomach and lower back felt tight. "Braxton Hicks contraction."

His hand palpated my belly. "Strong?"

"No… just… there it stopped."

His hand pressed in a little then glanced at his watch.

"I'm not in labor."

"We'll see." He stood, turned on power to the cooker, and then started the broiler. "Broiled trout, couscous, and green beans."

"Optimally nutritious, no doubt." The memory of when he gave me his grandmother's ring sprang to mind.

He ducked his head. "Not too much sodium in trout."

"Afraid I'll retain water? Things do seem to be quite full in that department." I teased. Of course I was retaining water. Last night my fingers were so swollen I had trouble with my rings. As for the rest of me I was an amazing exploding, more hyper-expanding, woman, and all my bras were too tight and my pants kept drifting down. I'd have to switch to nursing bras tomorrow because my pair wouldn't fit in the maternity bras I'd bought. "Sorry Martin, for I am a bit tired of hanging on."

"Hanging on? To what?"

I shrugged and my blown up chest emphasized the motion. I saw the way his eyes opened wider. Yes Martin they are breasts, _working_ breasts, I wanted to tell him, for soon enough they'd be feeding our son. "Just trying to wait it out." And yes Martin they are larger as you so cleverly observed the other night. I sighed at him and grinned a little.

"What?"

"Nothing. It will feel good to hold our baby in my arms and not lug it about like a sack of spuds."

He quickly looked away and began to prepare the rest of our dinner. "You should rest; have a lie-down."

"I have been and I'm going stir crazy." I'd counted cracks in the ceiling until I was blue in the face.

He turned. "Perhaps we ought to walk after supper."

"That would be nice," I yawned.

"Told you."

"I had a nap."

He nodded. "Uhm."

"Martin don't you start! I have three more days of work, and then I've off for the summer holiday."

"And maternity leave," he muttered. That exchange was followed by a few minutes of silence but occasionally he'd peep at his watch then glance at me slyly.

I tried to smile. "No; no more contractions, if that's what it was."

"Ten minutes and not another contrac…" he stopped. "Good." So he too was on sentry duty, as it were, waiting for the big reveal; our big reveal.

I grabbed his hand and squeezed. "It's fine. We'll know when. I mean we're amateurs at this, right?"

He put a pot on the cooker. "That's one way to put it."

After supper the air was fine and warm on our walk up to Lobber's Point. Martin fussed at me when I turned to walk uphill. "Come on," I protested. "Not as many people up there."

He looked at me strangely. "I thought you _liked_ people."

I took his arm as we trudged up towards the turn-about at the end of the lane. "I do, I do like people, but…"

"But?"

Georgie Pumphrey jogged past us just then, heading out on her daily regimen. "Fine evening for a walk!" she called out. "Not had that baby yet? You poor thing!" she called over her shoulder not slackening pace.

"No, not quite!" I answered with forced cheer. "See?"

Martin replied, "Uhm, no."

"I haven't had the baby."

"And?"

I sighed. "I'm big as a bloody house and I'm quite certain Bert Large has a pool going."

"Pool?"

"Betting pool. As to when our baby will be born!" I hissed. "He runs all the football pools lately."

Martin grimaced. "God."

"It's only natural; curiosity about us."

"You're saying that people are bothering you with questions."

"Oh my yes. When is my due date, how much weight have I gained, what's the Doc think, had problems with hemorrhoids? All that. Rather takes the biscuit."

He shook his head. "What is it with you... uhm… this village?"

"People, Martin."

He started to say something but paused. Then he peered up at the rough footpath to the top of Lobber Point. "We're not planning on going up there, are we? Louisa…"

I grinned at him. "If my pregnant friend Isobel walked up there so can I." I grabbed his hand and began towing him along thru the fence gap. "Come on."

He sighed in the way that I knew he was thinking that his girlfriend was mad. "And your bridesmaid friend went into labor up there."

 **Author's note:**

 **Port Isaac, which stands in for the fictional Portwenn, faces a bit west of north on the Cornish coast. The Haven, also called the harbor, is nearly on a north-south axis. Most of the town is east of the Haven. Lobber Point is the high headland to the west of the harbor and the town. That is where "Isobel" gave birth to her baby girl in Series 3.  
**

 **If you look further east, Port Gaverne is the next cove over.**


	95. Chapter 95

**Chapter 95 – A View from the Bridge**

I got huffing and puffing quite quickly on our climb, and every time I would pause, Martin would grab my wrist and take my pulse. "Really?" I protested after he did it for the third time.

He shrugged. "This may not be a very good idea," he cautioned. "Given your condition."

"Very pregnant; not ill, Mar-Tin." I pointed uphill. "Come on. Nearly there."

"Louisa, it's still a hundred yards and God knows how many feet vertically."

I grinned. "Race you!" I shouted, the way I'd challenge my girlfriends, and set out alone, until he caught me but giving me his arm, he assisted me on the tough spots, until we completed the ascent. At the very top of Lobber Point the view of the sea and the harbor was magnificent, and I could hear the pounding of the surf at the foot of the cliffs. The air was clean and brisk and I felt my spirits life even as I struggled for air. "A view from the bridge," I muttered.

"You mean the play by the American Arthur Miller?" he grimaced. "Humph. Rather dark."

"Never seen it. What's it about?"

He frowned. "It's… sad. Love, obsession, jealousy."

"How does it end?"

"Uhm… unhappily."

"Oh. When did you see this?"

"At uni. Before medical school."

I chewed on this tidbit of his past. So he actually had gone to the theater. "Did you like it?"

He replied softly, "Doesn't matter."

I looked at him closely for the way he spoke it must have affected him deeply. "But that's not why I said what I said. It's like… like crossing Tower Bridge and seeing the Thames below wending the way to the sea, carrying ships to distant ports."

Martin looked around. "The only ship I see is one down in harbour."

I sighed but I laced my fingers with his. "I meant there's the ocean. Wales straight ahead, Cornwall on our right hand, with Ireland and North America to the left. All those places."

He looked at me quizzically. "And?"

"We're on a bridge, you and me. Us together, and our baby boy is also a bridge between us."

He looked away for a moment then looked closely at my face. "Louisa, it didn't take your pregnancy to bridge the gap."

"Oh? You _were_ rather surprised when I turned up at your house three months ago."

"Yes, but not what I mean. I told you that every day I think of you, wonder what you're doing, in the school, talking to parents, your students, in the shops, walking up to surgery, and there wasn't a moment when you were away that I didn't - couldn't - stop thinking about you. That's what I mean."

"But you didn't come after me, did you? London."

He looked down at our linked fingers. "I should have. And I _ought_ to have _phoned_ you – a _thousand times_ all the months you were away. Damn."

"But I didn't send you a word did I? Not a letter, card, email, or phone call."

He gulped. "No."

"But you decided I was a big girl and I could make up my own mind."

He nodded. "I didn't want to force you… uhm… to make a decision…" he sighed. "You didn't want to make."

"And I thought I was making all the _right_ choices," I murmured. "But I came back. I came back for you Martin, and for me. I tried to stay away, and maybe if I hadn't been pregnant I'd have been able to. But even if that was the case, you'd never were far from my thoughts either. Many a night up there, a stranger in the City in my bed-sit, I stared at the speed dial button on my mobile. You're number 1, if you hadn't guessed. But I didn't push it; I couldn't because I was afraid. Once I even called surgery and Pauline answered but I hung up on her."

He grunted and squinted at the lowering sun. "Getting late."

I dropped his hand and put my arm around his waist. "A bridge anyway."

He tipped his head to touch mine. "So, we're here in spite of the paths we chose."

I hugged him hard and kissed his cheek. The baby kicked and I had to wee. "Can we go home now?"

 **Author's note:**

 **"A View from the Bridge" a two-act play by Arthur Miller (1956 New York) - Indeed it ends unhappily with a murder and the revelation of disconsolate musings.**

 **I have walked across Tower Bridge and also thought about cargoes and destinations.**


	96. Chapter 96

**Chapter 96 – Apologies**

As we approached the house Bert was waiting outside, apparently to intercept us. He called out to Martin, "Hey, Doc! Got a minute?"

Martin groaned, and then nodded at our front door. "I'll deal with him. You go in."

I told Bert hello, then excused myself and dashed into the house for I really needed to go. I emerged from the loo to see Martin still talking to Bert. From the way Bert was waving his arms and grimacing, and the unbending pose of Martin, it was clearly some sort of medical problem.

"Hang in there, Martin," I said to myself. "Don't fly off the handle," for these sorts of public ambushes by patients drove Martin mad. Just then the phone rang so on impulse I scooped up the handset. "Hello, Portwenn Surgery. Sorry, but the practice is closed. Is this an emergency?"

"Emergency? Oh it's you," a sulky woman's voice replied. "Might have known."

I instantly recognized Edith Montgomery. "Hello," I told her, with as little emotion as I could muster.

"Is Martin about?"

I glanced at the window. "He's… busy."

"Ah." She followed with a long pause.

"Is there a message I might take? Of a medical nature, of course?"

"You _are_ a cool one," she muttered. "Fine then. Tell Martin that he owes me an apology!"

Apology? The cheek of the woman. " _Really_ ," came out frostily.

"Yes. You're certain he isn't available?"

I saw Martin was now pressing on Bert's shoulder. "No," I told her. "So you think Martin owes you an apology? Why is that?"

She sighed. " _He_ got _me_ sacked."

"Oh?" Too bad. "So you're saying that because _you_ couldn't run your department properly it's _his_ fault? That is a good one. A real laugher."

"Why you little vixen… this is a _waste_ of my time! Put Martin on!"

"He's not available, as I said. Edith, you are wasting your time. Martin doesn't owe you, or anyone else, an apology. He's a fine doctor and he suffers incompetence not at all!"

"Ah, _there_ we have it! Incompetent, am I? My God you are spikey!"

"If Martin said it, then it's true." Spikey? Yes I was; had to be.

There was silence from the ginger-haired dragon while she digested that tidbit. "He won't make you happy, you know."

"There we have it! _Now_ we get personal. Thanks for that."

"Louisa I can only imagine _what_ you think of me."

"To be honest Edith I haven't thought about you for quite some time."

"Humph. Like I believe that."

"No it's true. You are the _furthest_ thing from our minds." I heard her sigh, so I asked her, "Just for reference where are you now working?"

She laughed. "Oh, you'll _love_ this. I am reduced to delivering babies at a grubby little hospital in the West End. Isn't that just deliciously horrid! It must make you very glad to know that Edith Montgomery has been brought low."

Not exactly. "So, London."

"Oh yes, my fine country girl. Up to Town. Far, far away from sordid Cornwall and _your_ biscuit tin village."

"It might be a biscuit tin village as you say, but at least I can cross the road and not fear I'll be run down by a taxi!"

"Ha! Enjoy Portwenn Louisa; you'll never get out of there. But Martin belongs…"

I looked down at the ring on my finger. "With me, Edith. We're engaged."

"Good luck with it," she whined, "you'll _need_ it."

I heard the door creak open and Martin marched in muttering. His eyebrows rose. "Problem?" he asked when he saw he on the phone.

I shook my head. "Goodbye," I told Edith, then replaced the handset on the cradle.

"Who was that?" he asked.

"Wrong number."

He came over and touched my forehead with the back of his hand. "You look flushed."

"Oh… you know - maternal hormones. Increased body temperature."

"I have noticed you have been perspiring quite a lot, especially in bed. So you are likely correct." He shook his head. "Bert Large wanted me to perform a medical exam on the street! Stupid oaf."

"What's wrong with Bert now?"

"Obesity, stupidity, and a bloody busy-body, that's what wrong with him!"

I smiled. "Oh Mar-tin, you don't mean that."

He sighed. "I do… no I don't. He's…"

"I'm guessing he asked how I was, and you, and if he could cater our wedding – again."

"And he complained his shoulder was inflamed, which it is. Arthritis, plus…"

"Oh, that's just Bert."

Martin shook his head. "He's a walking cardiac arrest unless he loses weight, gets exercise, and changes his diet. And lifting crates of vegetables strained his shoulder, apparently."

I crossed the space between us and put my arms around his waist. "And he's also the man who made sure I was well cared for after mum left and Terry; well, Terry went off on a scheme of his."

Martin stroked my hair. "Rather like when I came down for holidays and stayed with Joan and Phil."

"Yes, exactly like that. They took care of you."

He wrinkled his nose. "Then perhaps _you_ might speak to him about his weight."

I chuckled. "Sorta funny that the biggest expectant woman in Portwenn will tell Bert Large he's too large."

His hand froze over my ear. "Ahm, a joke, but you're _not_ fat, you're with child."

"Oh, that term. _With child_. Preggers, knocked up, having a baby, or just plain fat?"

Martin pressed his head to mine. "Expectant, but not fat." The baby kicked and he started. "I felt that."

"Your child wants out."

He groaned. "Sorry about all this."

"No apology needed or expected Martin. I'm happy to have our baby."

His neck went straight. "Our baby. Heavens."

I kissed his cheek. "Ours. Yours and mine. No doubt of that."


	97. Chapter 97

**Chapter 97 – Last Day of Term**

As the last of the kids headed out the door and away from school, I was completely worn out. My feet were aching, my back was killing me, and… well everything was out of sorts. I'd had nearly no sleep the last three nights because of an over-urgent bladder, night sweats, and general restlessness.

It didn't help that every time I tossed and turned in our bed, Martin would wake up in a startle.

"Everything alright?" he'd whisper as if he didn't want to wake the baby.

That was another problem. Our baby boy was doing upside-down jumping jacks; very active especially at night, and I was nearly frantic from it.

"He's just, moving around so much!"

Martin gently set his large hands on my belly, which was enormous and definitely lower in my abdomen. "Hm, yes."

"Ohh," I moaned just then as a band of tightness circled my back, and that set Martin to switch on the light. "Perhaps, we…"

The stretchy-pushing-tightening feeling paused. "Just Braxton-Hicks, I think." I waited with that internal monitor look I'm sure that pregnant mums get. "There… I think… yes. There, it's stopping."

He looked at the clock. "We'll see."

I shifted onto my side. "There, that's better." I was now able to take a full breath. "Sorry to scare you."

Martin's eyes were wide as saucers. "James Henry isn't being nice to you is he?"

"No." We'd agreed on a name, but it was surreal to speak it when he was still part of me. "I can't wait until he cries all night."

Martin recoiled. "You… oh, that's a joke."

"Yes a parent-to-be joke." I reached over and took his hand. "You – and me."

He sighed. "Doesn't seem very enjoyable, does it."

I smiled. "Parts have been very enjoyable," I flashed on a rainy Sunday in October. "And others..." the horrid London school, leaving the village, and coming back, finding him with Edith. "Not very."

"Not so pleasant," he finished for me. He cleared his throat.

"You do realize that if you hadn't passed out when we had all that wine?" The baby poked me and I grunted. "This mutual experience might all be two years ago."

His mouth fell open. "So you _did_ have plans that night?"

I chuckled. "Not exactly, but who knows what might have happened?"

"And that was when Danny, uhm, what's-his-name left, wasn't it?"

"Yep." I reached for his hand and rubbed his fingers. His hand lay lifeless for a moment then interlaced with mine.

He looked at me closely. "You cast him off."

"No, he dumped me, sorta. But I _did_ tell _him_ to _leave_. His work was more important – London work – than me." I yawned. "He wasn't really that serious, I don't think. He was at loose ends and his mum had been sick."

He sighed. "I was just thinking that Edith Montgomery wasn't that very different."

I kissed his hand. "Let's not talk about her."

He twisted his hand from my grasp and lightly stroked my cheek. "Yes."

"Good." I tried to relax, to just lie there and let my mind rest. "But it hurt to think that your romantic partner would choose work over you."

Yes, I thought, that was the problem.

Then Martin slowly started whispering. "When I've had sleepless nights, I try to recall someplace restful, and by focusing on that, try to slow my thoughts. It can lower the amplitude of your brain's beta waves, and enhance a shift to the alpha state. From there towards theta and delta waves, and deep sleep."

I closed my eyes, and recalled a white beach, brilliant sun, the muted sound of bathers. "Yes." I was twenty and I and my mates had gone down to Polperro on term break.

"Now…" I heard him switch off the light and dimness fell across my closed eyelids. "Try to imagine you are there; in that place."

"Happy place," I murmured.

"Ahm, yes." His fingers slowed their circuit across my cheek. "Hold that image; be there. Recall how it felt, the sounds, the smells…"

I was there on that beach. "Ice cream." The beach had high cliffs, atop a sugary-sand beach with gentle waves coming in. We'd bought ice cream from a truck at the top of the path and we'd run down to stake out prime spots on the beach. I'd gobbled down my treat then plopped onto my towel, letting the sun bake away the rigors of school exams. It was lovely.

"Fine," Martin said. "Just relax, relax…"

I smiled for I guessed he was frowning about the ice cream. I must have fallen asleep, so I did get three hours of solid rest, at least until his alarm rang. When I awoke I remembered most of a dream. I was on that beach in a bikini, and Martin was somehow there, in my seventeen-year-old memory, but while I was dressed for sand and sun, he was wearing a dark suit.

"Wool-gathering?" Sally Chadwick asked for I guess I was staring blankly at the kids as they left on summer holiday.

"Yeah." I waved to the kids. "Have a fun holiday," I called to them and most turned back and waved.

"A few years on your little one will be in this school."

My secretary wasn't the only one to say that. "Let's get the little tike born first?"

"Right." She smiled. "I'll miss you, Louisa."

I hugged her. "Falmouth calls."

She sighed and looked up at the school. "Fun while it lasted."

"But you'll visit?"

She nodded. "Sure," she said but I knew it was half-hearted. "Email and phone then."

Sally brightened. "Yeah, that would work."

Tasha pushed past us. "Sh-orry. Got to get zome lunch fer my girrrl," she slurred at us and almost stumbled on the step. "Clumzzy me! Some dancer I make!" she giggled then bustled off with her daughter.

" _She_ doesn't look so good," Sally stated the obvious.

"Probably tired," I answered. "Over worked."

Sally nodded. "Right."

I watched as Tasha left the schoolyard. I ought to mention her to Martin. "Tired. Aren't we all?" I replied, but I started to bite my lip.


	98. Chapter 98

**Chapter 98 – Points of view**

I was wiping down the counter when Martin came to the kitchen after Surgery was done for the day.

"Oh," he said as he looked at the stuffed chicken lying in a baking dish, "you've started fixing supper."

"I felt like cooking," I told him, then watched as his eyes roved about the room. He grimaced when he saw the ironing board set up, a basket of folded laundry, and the vacuum cleaner out. "And… other things…" I stammered. I'd also had a good long wash-up, put on fresh makeup, and then changed from a dress into my last pair of maternity trousers that fit and a soft short-sleeved top.

He cleared his throat. "I see."

I opened the cooker door and set the chicken in the preheated oven. "Just had a burst of energy."

His eyes got a faraway look.

"Anything wrong with that?" I asked.

"Ahem, _no_. Not _exactly_. But when a pregnant women experiences a spurt of energy…"

" _Mar-tin_ , I had a fine nap this afternoon, and some chocolate digestives – thank you for buying them, by the way – and I felt… I don't know? Jam-packed with energy." I leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. "And school is out for summer holiday."

He nodded. "Good. But Louisa, you need rest. But all this?" His hand waved about the room, "And I see you've rearranged the mantle photos."

"I dusted."

"Oh."

"Martin, I know I had a terrible night last night, but I'm fine now." I was fine; feeling great, although James was squirming like a puppy down there. "And the baby seems to like it as well. He's very active."

Martin pulled a kitchen chair up, and taking my arm, made me sit. "Louisa your burst of energy..."

"The baby book called it nesting."

He nodded with that scared look he gets at times. "Right. But you're fine? You are?"

I hugged him around the waist. "God yes. I don't feel like a slug either; not dragging myself around." Just then my belly got tight in a band and I had to suppress a gasp.

"Fine." He pried my hands loose. "I'll finish the ironing. Shall I?"

I sighed. "Okay. The chicken has some time to go. I was thinking of having a pasta salad, with veg."

Martin was inspecting the iron, as tapped his finger against the sole plate. "Hm. Yes." He spread a blue shirt of his on the board and began to purposefully press it with the hot iron.

I watched him while he slowly and methodically worked on the shirt. "You'd have made a good soldier, or sailor. Spic and span; squeaky clean you are."

"My father wanted me to do service in the Navy, just as he had," he grunted. "My position was that as a surgeon I'd have far more opportunity to heal the sick in a large city hospital."

I chuckled.

"What?"

"Not the career path he imagined then."

His face fell. "My dad and I…" he sighed, "often didn't see eye to eye."

I knew his relations with his mum were far worse. "No jolly Jack Tar* for you, then."

"No. As a registrar I got plenty of experience patching up fools who pitted motorbikes against lorries, then upon those who got into pub brawls in far-off ports of call. Which is what my dad did."

I watched him for a few seconds. "But you'd have done well in the Armed Forces, I imagine. All those rules."

He shook his head. "But all that claptrap of following orders. Far too many times I…" he paused. "well, I mean… I, uhm…"

"You go against the tide. Buck the system."

He finished pressing the shirt then hung it on a hanger against the back of the pantry door. "One way to put it."

"Martin, I'm not criticizing you. You do what is right – for your patients," then I lowered my voice, "Whether they like it or not."

He blew air from his nose. "Do they ever follow instructions? No." He took another shirt in hand. "Why do they even bother coming to surgery if they don't have the _slightest_ interest in paying attention and following my orders?"

"Sounds like some of my students."

"All the same it's a waste of my bloody time!"

"Oh Martin, shush." I put water in a pot to boil for the pasta and busied myself with the rest of dinner.

Martin finished his shirts and began to press his boxer shorts.

"That necessary?" I asked.

He ducked his head. "Ahm, it's my usual way of doing the…"

There came a knock at the back door and he groaned. "Gawd. What now?" He stomped over to the door and jerked it open. "Oh…" his face fell. "Eleanor."

Mum stood in the door wearing a bright dress with a neck-scarf. She then surveyed our domestic scene with a grin. "I can see you two have got the playin' house bit down pat." She chuckled.

"Hello mum," I said.

Martin gave me a tiny shrug then he asked, "Have you eaten? We're about to."

She shook her head. "No, no. I'm good on that score. I come to tell you that I might be movin' on."

I sighed at her. "Oh."

She ducked her head. "Sorry Lou-lou, but it's all for the best as I can't, _won't_ , work for Bert any more. That man! If you heard what he said! No, no, you don't want to hear about our arguments." Her hands clenched into fists.

"So you're going away?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level and calm but I was angry. "When?" I picked up the chopper and whacked the top off a bell pepper.

She started at the clap of blade on cutting board. "If you're gonna draw knives," she laughed, "might be sooner and I figured you'd be upset."

I put the blade down and dried my hands on a towel. "When mum?" This was the way it always was with her. Breeze in and then breeze out. All about her, never about me or anyone else.

She stood in the doorway, almost afraid to enter, keeping the frame between mother and daughter. "I know I promised to stay for a time, but I got this chance to do something different, right?"

"Right," I snapped as I sat down for I got another belly cramp, this one combined with back pain like the baby wanted to come out _that_ way. "Go on."

Martin cleared his throat. "I think this is between the two of you." He turned to leave us.

I held up my hand telling him to stay. "Stay."

He looked like he sought to blend into the wall. "If you're sure," he whispered.

Eleanor went on, "The way I see it I should be outta your way see? I'm rubbish with the baby thing. I had you but it was Terry that did most of the tendin', other than the feeding. I quite enjoyed that," she sniggered then gave Martin a long look. "I breast fed Lou-lou, you know."

Martin stared at the floor. "Yes, a neural feedback loop while nursing can stimulate bonding from mother to infant."

That was my turn to sigh. "Mum, too much bloody detail. Got it?" Good old mum, as undependable as ever.

"Oh Lou-lou, I wanted to stay, but."

"Yeah, right. Always a but with you," I snapped. "Just like that."

"Yes." She looked pained. "I deserved that. But see, I…"

"When?" Martin butted in. "When _are_ you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning," she said. "I just had to tell you and I been thinking on that point for some time; that I don't fit in here. Not anymore." She hugged herself. "Not for a long time."

"Javier," I said.

She nodded. "Yes, sweetheart, but that was then. But you see his cousin Rosalita is reopening the bar – in Spain – and she let me know the job is mine but I have to be right quick or she'll fill it local. I can't pass this up." She crossed to me and squatted down to touch my hand, which I twitched away. "Sorry; I am."

I felt the sting of tears prick my eyes. "Fine," I told her. "Go, back to Spain. If you can't stay for a just a couple weeks to see your grand-baby born, then be away. _Go_. Take the job. Have a nice trip."

She stood up, pressed her hand to my cheek, kissed the top of my head and turned to leave.

I looked up at her back. "Mum, it's always gonna be like this between us, isn't it?"

She half-turned and I saw her wince. "Told you I was rubbish at bein' a mum." She sniffed. "No way to be sure I'd be any better as a grandma."

Martin's eyes went from her to me and back to her. "Ahm, thank you for staying as long as you have."

She turned to face him. "Been too long Martin; her and me. I had a chance when she was ten and I bollixed it up. It's not Louisa's fault. It's all mine."

Martin stared at her. "People can change."

She wagged her head. "Some can; you for instance. I hear what people say about you, but since this one," she threw her hand my direction, "joined with you, you act different, they tell me."

He straightened his tie. "Do they? That's their point of view?"

"They believe you are… different. How you used to scream and yell all the time. Not so much now." Mum looked around the room. "I recall when Doc Sim ran this place. It was dirty and messy. But you've cleaned it up; put it to rights." She peered at me for long seconds, and then turned to Martin. "You do right by my little girl, Martin, or I'll be back to get after you."

I watched as she walked to the door, then she leaned on the door frame. "Louisa, you are better off without me," she muttered.

I struggled to my feet. "Mum, you told me that when I was ten. I didn't believe it then and I don't believe it now."

Mum smiled and held out her arms. "Give us a kiss before I go."

I waddled to her and we embraced.

"Love you Lou-lou," she whispered to me.

"Love you too, mum," I answered. "Call me – when you get there."

She brightened. "Maybe you can visit someday? It's always sunny down there."

I sighed and kissed her cheek. "Sure. We'll see."

She squeezed me tightly once more then she swept out the door without a backward glance.

Martin stepped to the door and pushed it closed.

I wiped my wet cheeks with my hand, then put a kitchen mitt on and opened the oven. I poked the bird with a fork and it came out of the flesh nearly clean. "Chicken's nearly done," I said.

Martin came to my side, took the fork from me, closed the cooker and put his arms around me. "I am sorry."

I shrugged. "You know how she is."

He kissed my forehead. "Don't worry about her."

"Course not. Eleanor will be fine. She always is," I told him and that's when I started to cry. The baby squirmed and it _hurt_.

 **Author's Note:**

 **Jack Tar – A Royal Navy sailor, historical term.**


	99. Chapter 99

**Chapter 99 – Morning**

Seated behind the Surgery desk, Pauline watched me carefully descend as I lumbered downstairs that Saturday morning. "Mornin' Louisa," she told me. "How are you doin' this fine day?"

It _was_ a fine morning - sunny and warm; a perfect day for the village festival. I'd been up for hours, having watched the sun rise. One hand dropped to my belly which suddenly felt very hard, as a too-familiar band of tightness wrapped around my lower back. "Oh… you know," I answered, but then I had to sit down on a chair while the feeling got tighter. Oh no, what if?

In a flash she'd crossed the room and was crouching by my side. "You're not okay, are you? Doc!" she yelled and in a moment Martin muttered from his examining room. She bellowed, "Get in here!"

The door to Martin's consulting room sprang wide open and he appeared in the doorway with a frown on his face. "What's the problem _now_?" Martin asked loudly, but when he saw me crouched on a chair he sped over to me. "Louisa?" He crouched down. And took my wrist to check my pulse.

I shook his hands away. "I'm fine, just…" I rubbed my back. "I guess I must have twisted my back."

He and Pauline exchanged glances. "Sure, sure," Pauline said. "Let me get you a cup of tea." She vanished into the kitchen.

Martin put the back of his hand on my cheek. "Any light-headedness? Panting? Palpitations?" His other hand went to my abdomen and tried to palpate it. "Any sense of rectal pressure?"

I pushed his hands away. "No, none of those." My back was feeling better. "There, it's stopping. Like I said, I twisted my back."

He raised an eyebrow. "Louisa, let me…"

"Examine me? I'm not your patient, Martin."

"Ahm, no. Of course not." He blew air through his nose. "All the same. Just in case."

"I said I am fine." I stared at him. "Really, I am."

He craned his head towards the kitchen where Pauline was clattering cups and pots. He said softly, "Perhaps this has, _whatever_ it is, been brought on by your mother's departure. That must be… upsetting."

There was that, I knew, and I had cried a lot last night. I grabbed his hand. "Martin, this is… oh just belly rumbles, nothing to do with Eleanor." I sighed. "So let's not talk about her."

His thumb rubbed the back of my hand. "Louisa… about last night…"

I squeezed his fingers. "Yeah, I know."

His other hand rose up to my cheek and he stroked it slowly and softly. "I love you," he whispered.

I took his hand from my face and kissed the fingers, just as I had last night. No words needed.

0 0 0

After mum's bombshell, and I managed to choke down dinner, I'd gone up to bed, but I'd become an absolutely horrible mess. My emotions swung from sadness to bitterness and then to anger, and then back again. Somewhere, and somehow, I'd finally pushed mum aside in my mind. Fine, I thought at last, I haven't needed her since I was aged eleven, and I certainly didn't need her now.

Martin watched as I paced back and forth in a U-shaped path up one side and down the other of our bed. Finally Martin talked me into drinking a glass of warm milk and getting ready for bed. Then he went down and tidied the kitchen, firmly locked all the doors, but as I drifted to sleep I heard his heavy footsteps as he came upstairs.

Much later I awoke and rolled to the side. Martin lay next to me, his eyes wide open, just visible in the dim moonlight filtered by the blinds. "You're awake."

"Hmph," he grunted.

"Sorry, about all that, earlier."

He shrugged in the dimness, and then he took my hand and rubbed it. His eyes looked very liquid. Perhaps it was just the light. "Louisa… I…" He cleared his throat. "Mothers, well they can be… _rubbish_." He shook his head. "But _you_ _won't_ be that way; I know it. You're so much better than that."

I scrunched over to him, and put my arm over him, rubbing his back. "Thank you, Martin. I hope so."

His breath was warm on my cheek. "Sorry about, I mean, that you had to…" he gulped loudly.

I kissed his face and his cheek was wet and salty. "Martin?"

He brushed his face with his hand. "It's… nothing," he said stiffly.

I pulled him tight against me; belly, baps, legs, the whole thing - all of me there was to give him. "Oh, Martin," I said. "Shhh," I said as I kissed his cheek again and again, trying to take his sadness away. He'd comforted me and now it was my turn.

His hand gradually started to stroke my back, and then my shoulders, and then it trailed down my arm. "Oh, Louisa," he said softly, and then…. and then.

Progressively and with slowly building responsiveness, the illogical and absolutely not sensible thing happened.

0 0 0

Pauline charged back into reception holding a steaming mug in her hands. "Here girl," she ordered, "get this into you and you'll feel better."

Martin and I dropped hands, trying to hide a tender moment.

But Pauline saw us for she said, "Two lovebirds. Good."

Martin started to saw something when the front door burst open and the Portwenn girl pack rushed in with a flurry of scared faces, waving arms, and gesturing hands. "Doc! Doc!" they yelled in unison.

"Gawd! What now?" he moaned.

I got to my feet awkwardly but the girls hardly noticed as they blurted out some tale of woe caused by self-disfigurement, for one of them had a safety pin stuck through her earlobe with blood dripping from it.

Martin's face went white. "What HAVE you done?"

One girl told him, "She wanted another ear piercing and they charge a lot in the salon, so we thought we'd…"

That set him off in a tirade about hygiene and barbaric practices.

I picked up my hand bag and slung it over my shoulder. "I'll go down to the festival; just to see what's going on. Later then?"

He nodded affirmation as he dragged the injured girl into his surgery, escorted by her ladies in waiting.

Pauline nodded her head at the closed surgery door. "Medicine."


	100. Chapter 100

**Chapter 100 – Midday**

The annual Harbor Day was just as I expected but for several things. There were so many people crowded onto the Platt, the babble of voices and music was loud and confusing, and (unfortunately) most of them wanted to 1) touch my bump, 2) commiserate with me about my hugeness ('Poor Louisa,' they'd say), and 3) had plenty of rude comments about me and Martin or just Martin alone.

After a whole raft of things like that I stepped away from the crowd and put my back to a wall to get a respite. I sighed just as Joe Penhale popped up out of nowhere. "Louisa!"

"Hello Joe."

He smiled. "You're looking well. But you don't sound like you're okay."

"Oh, thanks for sayin' that. Just… you know."

"No," he grinned. "I mean it. I do; you looking great. Me and my missus, that is my _former_ missus, well… anyway we'd talked about havin' kids." He shrugged. "Didn't happen though. Planned on it. Hoped for it." He frowned. "And then we weren't married any more."

"I didn't even know you'd been married Joe. When was this?"

"Oh, years back," he looked sad, blinked furiously for a few seconds, and then nodded at my belly. "Mags - her name is Maggie - would been thrilled to be havin' a baby. Ahem, our baby." He hooked his thumbs over his wide belt, heavily laden with police gear. "But… meanwhile I'd better be keepin' a sharp lookout on this crowd."

I peered at the crowd only seeing neighbors, friends, and a few grockles –what we Cornish call tourists. "They don't look very dangerous to me Joe," I told him.

He stood a little straighter. "All the same, Miss Glasson," he winked, "You never know when the arm of the law or emergency services might be _necessary_." He gave me a wink and a jaunty salute. "Best be on my way. A policeman never gets any rest."

I shook my head at his back as he walked away. Joe was – Joe – a little off. But he'd been married? Hm. Who knew? I turned just as Al Large called my name. He was standing behind a makeshift stand where he and his dad stood. "Al, Bert," I said as I went to them. I looked over their wares. "Alcohol?"

Bert smiled. "Just offering a warming dram or two to take the chill off."

I chuckled. "It's bright and sunny and quite warm, Bert. Not cold at all."

Bert chuckled. "All the same. May we interest you in some of our wares?"

Al blurted out, "Dad! She's preggers for Heaven's sake! Sorry Louisa."

"No harm done. Got a lemon squash?"

Al reached into a coolbox and pulled out a bottle. "On the house," he told me after prising off the top.

His dad gave him a dirty look. "Boy! We can't be givin' wares to all our friends!" he hissed.

"Oh no, I can pay." I reached into my handbag but Bert's manner changed.

"So sorry my lover. Kneejerk reaction. Once a capitalist, always a capitalist," he said.

Al laughed. "Capitalist, Dad? That's what we are? Ha! That's a good one."

"Boy, everyone has to start someplace."

I smiled at the father and son. They'd been this way for years; Bert with all his grandiose ideas, and Al as the voice of reason. "Well," I told them, "you never know."

"That's right!" Bert said. "From little acorns the mighty oak springs forth! Why we could have a whole string of refreshment stands across all of Cornwall, if not England, Wales and Scotland!"

I nodded at Al and he caught my look not to encourage his father. "Sure, Dad," he said. "Whatever you say."

Bert puffed himself up. "You gotta' dream big, boy!"

I was inspecting a table of local beach art, when I saw Martin's aunts.

"Hello, Louisa!" Joan happily greeted me, while Aunt Ruth stood stiffly to the side, merely muttering a faint, "Hello."

"Aunt Ruth is something wrong?" I asked.

Joanie laughed. "Oh, my stick-in-the-mud sister has been grumping about how she's bored. Look around you, Ruth! My God, there's food, fun, and games!"

"Watching you feed your chickens and muck out a sheep pen is not quite my idea of fun," Ruth grimaced. "But I am a city girl after all."

Joan rolled her eyes at her. "You said you wanted a rest; none of the _big city_ excitement for a while."

"I didn't know it meant that your bloody rooster crowing at 5 AM."

"Oh that's only in the spring. He wakes up and crows much earlier in summer."

Ruth shook her head sadly. "If true it might just be time for me to move on," she grumbled.

Joan shook her head back. "Oh don't be a grumpy old hen, sister of mine."

"Being compared to a chicken is hardly a sisterly thing, Joan." Ruth turned to me. "Don't mind us Louisa. This is what passes for sibling relations in this family." She looked at my belly. "I think you've dropped."

I touched it and rubbed for it had gone hard. "I think you're right." My belly was lower; more out front, and I could breathe better but I certainly waddled more. Walking down to the Platt was a chore.

"When's your due date?" she asked.

"Another two weeks."

Joan came closely and hugged me briefly. "I'm so happy for you and Martin. Speaking of my nephew and your intended, where is he?"

I nodded towards the cottage up the hill. "Patients until noon." I checked my watch. "So I have a little time until he's driving me to my checkup."

"Anything wrong?" Ruth asked me with a concerned look.

"No, just a check. You know. OB stuff."

Ruth shook her head. "You know when I worked in the women's prison we had to have an OB-GYN on-call for the inmates." She shivered. "Poor girls. Having babies in lockup."

Joan gave me a smile. "And of course we're so very glad that you're not in jail, Louisa." Her face changed as she said that. "Oh good lord, I didn't mean… that is…"

I held up a hand to stop her from saying more. "Quite all right. But I'm not my dad am I?"

Ruth was suddenly studying the ground. "Speaking of parents I think I saw your mother getting on the bus today. Joanie dragged me out early today when she made her veg deliveries." She yawned. "Will she be gone long?"

I looked her right in the eye. "Eleanor is going back to Spain, and no I don't know how long she will be away."

Ruth and Joan exchanged glances. "I see," said Joan. "Well, we'll certainly be available to help you - when the baby comes."

The baby kicked and I had a sudden urge to use the toilet. "I have to… go." I handed Ruth my bottle of squash bottle and headed to the public toilet. Just as I entered the Fish Cellars I saw Pauline come bustling down the hill, so I knew that morning surgery was over.

Emerging in a few minutes, I saw Mrs. Tishell look from where she was outside her shop and she rushed over to me in what looked like a near panic. Oh lord, I thought, what now? I put on what I hoped was a neutral look. "Hello," I said as she braked to a stop just short of my abdomen.

"Oh Louisa, there you are! Somethings happened!" came out all in a rush.

I sighed inside. Yes, Sally something happened and soon enough it would be born. But she was clearly agitated; not her usual creepy self when I had to enter her shop. "Something's wrong?" She grabbed my upper arm in a steel grip and began to drag me back towards the water. Instinctively I tried to pull away from her. "Sally? Let me go!"

"No, no!" she shouted. "It's that teacher of yours, Tasha! She started dancing with the kids, I know she's been working and working with them, despairing over their performance, but what a cowboy dance has to do with Harbor Day I have NO idea, for she told me all about it, but she just keeled over! I've called Doctor Ellingham and he'll be here in a moment! Come on!"

Sally pushed through the crowd, the music gone off, and people murmuring and making concerned noises. Just as Sally had said my friend Tasha was sprawled on the ground on her back. Her head rolled from side to side, as she mumbled nonsense.

"Oh my God!" I shouted, and clumsily lowered myself to my knees next to her. "Tasha?" She turned her head to me, but her eyes were unfocussed and her face was slack. I took her hand which felt cold and clammy. "Doctor's on his way. George," I called out to George McCollum who was crouching over her as well, "can you strip off that jacket and put it under her head?"

"Right," he grunted and rolling his windbreaker into a ball gently put it under her head. "You think she's had a stroke? This is the way my mum was when she had hers." He slipped his mobile back into his pocket. "And I just called 9-9-9."

I looked at her face, but didn't see any one-sided facial droop. "Maybe not a stroke. Heart attack?" I rubbed her hand as I talked to her. "You're okay; gonna be _alright_."

"Exhaustion, if you ask me," Mrs T said. "Too much running around. Probably dehydrated or underfed. And look at those skinny arms. Tch, tch. That must be it."

Tasha's daughter Suzie was suddenly came to me. "Mum! Mum! You okay? Miss Glasson, what's wrong with her? Is she going to die?"

"No," I told her. "She's just… well, let's let the doctor figure this out."

Suzie started crying, so I put an arm around her. "There, there." I caught Penhale's eye, who'd just wormed his way through the crush of people. "Joe, can you hang onto Suzie?"

Joe nodded and gave her a big smile. "Now then, little miss? Yer mum's down but not out. Right?" He led her away a few steps. "The doc's on his way… and here he is! He'll put things to right! Won't cha Doc?"

Mrs. Tishell jumped in front of Martin and tried to tell him her theory of Tasha's condition, but he brushed her aside. Martin ignored Penhale as well when he knelt down by me. "Louisa?" he asked. "What's going on?"

I filled him in on what I had been told and observed. I saw sally Tishell scowling at me but I ignored her.

Bert leaned in. "She was dancing and then she sort of stumbled…"

"More like fell Doc," added Al. "Like a puppet with her strings cut."

Martin started a medical exam, just as Ruth and Joan came over.

"Martin?" Ruth asked him. "Need a hand?"

"I'm trying to ascertain what is the issue, Ruth." He looked at her eyes, squeezed her hands, made her try to obey simple commands, and then took her pulse and BP.

"Findings?" Ruth asked.

"Rapid pulse and elevated blood pressure. Slurred words and confused mental state plus rapid breathing." He addressed the patient. "Are you diabetic?"

Tasha shook her head. "No, but… can't think straight. Felt like I was flying…"

Martin looked at her pupils bending his face down to hers while shading her eyes from the sunlight. "Hm."

"Hm, what Martin? Ruth asked.

"She has nearly no pupillary response to light. Her pupils are not wide; just pinpoints. Changing light levels doesn't affect them."

Ruth cleared her throat. "Dear?" she asked the stricken woman. "Have you been drinking?"

"She doesn't drink," I answered for her.

Ruth and Martin started at one another. "Central nervous system effects in any rate," Ruth said slowly.

"Anybody call her husband?" somebody asked.

"Tried to," Penhale answered. "Went straight to voicemail, but there's plenty of black spots around." The coast was notorious for dead areas of no mobile service.

Ruth and Martin had a quiet conference. "I think you're right," I heard Ruth say to him. "Brain tumor? That could explain the neurologic symptoms."

Martin wrinkled his nose. "Doesn't sound right though."

"Still," Ruth answered. "Any better guesses?"

Martin shook his head then snapped his fingers. "Poisoning… perhaps. What does your husband do?"

"He drives a taxi, Martin," Joe told him. "Tommy's Taxis." Suzie was clinging onto his leg like a monkey snug to its mother.

The girl was crying so Joan took her in her arms and held her in a tight hug.

"There dear," Joan said to the girl and I recalled when I was a girl and Joan had cared for me much the same. I gave her an approving nod and she smiled briefly. "Suzie, you're mum is sick, but the ambulance is on the way. Now don't you worry about a thing," Joan told her.

I looked around the crowd pressing close. Yes this is a reason I liked my village; small and close-knit and we took care of one another.

Martin addressed Tasha. "Do you help your husband clean the taxi?"

She shook her head _yes_.

Martin asked another question. "Could you have drunk any windscreen cleaning solution, or cleaning fluid by mistake?"

Right then Bert and Al jointly told a story that had a bearing on Tasha's condition. "To save the planet Doc," Al added at the end. "And so _he could be the best… and cheaper than the rest_."

Martin exploded. "So you sold her husband used chip oil so he could make bio-fuel?"

"What's that?" I asked.

"If done properly vegetable oil can be processed into a high-grade additive for mixing with diesel," Ruth told me. "One of my patients made a small fortune in the stuff, until he found out his girlfriend was sharing her affections."

"And?"

Ruth sighed. "Then he did away with her then pled insanity. The court did find he had a diminished intellect as a result of brewing up the mix in his garden shed."

Marti yelled a bit then got a bottle of vodka from Bert's stand and rigging up a quick and dirty tubing, shoved in into Tasha's nose. "Now," Martin sighed. "What about the idiot husband of hers?"

"If he's driving around that can't be good," Joan said.

Penhale bristled. "So he's driving drunk?"

"No, not drunk you _oaf_ ," Martin hissed at him. "Her husband is likely as barmy as she was, but is now behind the wheel of a car!" he was staring at Bert and Al with a withering stare when he said this.

"You said you wouldn't yell at us, Doc," Bert bleated.

"God," Martin grumbled. "What _is it_ with you people?"

I looked at my watch. "Oh God! Look at the time. Mar-tin, I'd better be off to hospital. My appointment?" But how to get there? A bus would take far too long.

He nodded up at me. "Yes. Right." His eyes fixed on Ruth. "Aunt Ruth, Louisa needs a ride. Is your car near?"

Aunt Ruth bobbed her head. "Car park at the top of the village. Come on my girl. Let's get you to my Mercedes."

Joan said, "And I'll stay here with Suzie."

Martin moaned, "Now where is that _blasted_ ambulance?"

As we left the scene, Ruth touched my arm. "Now I see that Martin is in his element. I was worried about him here – in Portwenn. Feared he waste his medical talents."

Ignoring her not-so-faint sneer, I looked back at him as he tended to Tasha. "Will she get any better?"

"If it is methanol poising, then the vodka he's pumping into her stomach will counteract it. But she'll have one doozy of a hangover in the morning." Ruth chuckled.

The walk to the top of the village was a slog, and I was fair out of breath when we got to the car park. "I have to remember not to do this with two-and-a-half stone of pregnancy hanging off me," I grunted as I slid into her car.

Ruth was panting as well. "Now off to hospital my girl." She started her fancy car and we set off.


	101. Chapter 101

**Chapter 101 – Staggering Impact**

"Seems to me that you and Martin sorted Tasha's diagnosis."

Ruth looked at me from behind the wheel, her lips almost smiling at my comment. "I'd have felt a lot better having blood-gas analysis results in my hand and a toxicology screen," she muttered. "Or a good red wine." She pursed her lips. "I doubt an ordinary run-of-the-mill GP would have been able to put two and two together and come up with five."

"That's one of the things that amazes me about Martin is how he can do that." I smiled at her, for I was learning more of the character of Martin's youngest aunt. "Think she'll be alright?"

"Yes. Ought to be."

"Are you staying in the village much longer?"

She shrugged. "Depends. And yes Martin is very bright. Intelligent yes, but not always so smart."

What did she mean by that crack? "Hm? Never mind." My fingers played with my dress. "Depending on just what?"

Her head tipped towards me. "You, and _him_ , and Martin. I've already offered congratulations on your son to be, as well your engagement." She sniffed. "I imagine your wedding – whenever it might be – will be well attended. Head Teacher and the village GP. You're the local royalty you know. Plus the chance to see the two of you at the altar will be quite a draw, I imagine."

"We haven't actually picked a date. Royalty? Oh God no. Us?"

"Oh yes, Louisa," she said as she nodded. "In your village of 1000…"

"966," I corrected her. "And soon to be 967." I shifted in my seat because my belly clamped down hard. "Ohh." I bit my lips to cut off any more for it hurt; really hurt a lot. "Mar- _tin_?" came out between my clenched teeth.

"Louisa?"

"Ah," I managed to say, as the pressure got worse. "Uhm, Braxton-Hicks, I think," I grunted. I tried to relax but it didn't help. It was like sticking your finger in a light socket, but the finger was my whole abdomen and waves of pain were washing down my legs and up my arms.

Ruth looked at me in alarm. "Well good heavens, don't you dare have that baby on my leather seats!"

I started taking shallow breaths. "Yeah, sure. Trying not to. I'll keep my legs crossed as well."

Ruth started to pull to the side of the road. "Better stop, I think. If you're in labor? What's the pain like? Localized or general?"

The pressure eased, like flicking a switch to _off_. "No, no. I'm fine, really. Don't stop. Not in labor." Or I didn't think so.

Ruth shook her head. "Louisa, if the baby is coming we _have_ to stop."

"It's, I mean he, isn't coming." Not yet, at least. Suddenly I felt completely fine. "There; all better."

"Humph." She was still shaking her head. "Right. Whatever you say."

I watched a mile marker slide past as I discreetly checked my watch. No more pains. Good. A false alarm. Having more of those lately. "Making good time. We ought to be there in another forty-five minutes." This part of the road was lonely. Since they closed the old quarry nearly no one comes out this way, so we had the road to ourselves, under a bright blue sky, with Rough Tor and Brown Willie in the distance. I'd had Ruth drive this route as it was slightly faster with no traffic and it was quite scenic.

And that's the way it went for ten minutes or so, until I looked up the road and saw a car come around a low hill, swerving from side to side; filling up the narrow road. "Ruth! What's wrong with that car?"

"Driver's a bloody idiot," she muttered. "Do all the Cornish drive like that?"

It was a blue car and in a flash I recognized it. It was a taxi; Tommy's Taxi. Tommy got the car straightened out on the road, and back in his proper lane now. "Good Lord. Maybe Tommy's rushing back to town? Perhaps he got the message his wife is ill?"

"If he keeps driving like that he'll be the one that's ill, or worse."

The car grew larger and larger and then only a hundred yards in front of us suddenly darted back into our lane. "RUTH!"

She cranked the wheel to the right to put us in the other lane. "The man's mad! Or worse!" She applied the brakes and laid on the horn.

Now _we_ were on the wrong side of the road. "Ruth!" I screamed when the taxi came back to our right in a head-on course straight towards us.

Tommy's face was obscured by the sunglasses he wore, but I saw him slump over the wheel when his taxi was just a split second away from us.

"Oh BUGGER!" Ruth yelled as she turned the wheel, just before we collided with Tommy.

I managed to brace my arm against the dash just as the airbag went off.


	102. Chapter 102

**Chapter 102 - Birthday**

It was all over in a split second. With a tremendous jolt the car half-slewed and spun to the left and then came to rest. The airbag deflated in an eyeblink and I was sitting a cloud of powder which made me cough and my eyes sting. My chest and belly felt the effects of a massive blow, but I turned quickly to look at Ruth. She was moaning.

"Ruth! Ruth! Are you hurt?" I yelled.

She opened her eyes and turned towards me. "Bloody hell. Broke my wrist," she winced and coughed. "I think." She flexed her wrist. "Ohhh! God. Yep, the right." She immediately pulled her arm to her chest and cradled it." She peered at the wreckage of the dash where the deployed air bags had spewed forth. "Really messed up my car." She looked at me in fear. "You?"

"Hanging in there." I managed to open my door. "Ruth, we should get out of the car. Now!"

Ruth reached towards the dash. "Louisa, turn the motor off."

I flipped off the engine which had still been running, though making awful grinding noises. "Come on Ruth. Move!"

She turned to her door, tugged at the lever, but the door didn't move. "Jammed."

I sighed, and then unsnapped our harnesses. "Think you can climb over the console?"

She immediately tried to. "Gonna be difficult for an old bird like me." She wiggled towards me anyway. "Lead on Macduff."

I got ahold of her jacket and begin to pull. "Come on then!" With much tugging and pulling I got her stick-thin body across the center console onto her side.

She pushed out with her legs against her door until she forced me off my seat, then I dragged her out the door far enough for her feet to hit the roadbed. "Got it, good. Better check on the other car."

I was dizzy as I stood there, but holding onto the car went around to Tommy's Taxi. The cars were jammed together like lovers locked in a close embrace. Yes both cars were wreckage now. The blue taxi had its left front corner buried into the matching corner of Ruth's Mercedes. Tommy was slumped over the wheel, apparently lifeless. "Tommy! Tommy?" I called out and I saw his arm move to his face as he took off his sunglasses.

"Where did the snow go?" I heard him mutter then he turned his head. "Louisa? You'll catch your death out there."

The sunny afternoon said it was anything but winter. "Tommy? Wake up! Are you hurt?"

He opened his eyes but they were glazed with a far away stare. "I… I feel sick," he moaned. He leaned back against his seat. "Messed up, bollixed it didn't I?"

I started tugging at his door and miracle of miracles I managed to lever it open. The strain on my belly and back reminded me this was not a great idea, but I was afraid of fire, for I smelled spilled fuel. "Tommy. You have to stay with me. Come on! _Now_ , get out of the car," I told him in my best teacher voice.

He unclipped his harness and started to climb out. "Wow, the world's spinning," he told me then he tumbled to the turf.

I got down to my knees to look at his face. "Tommy? Tommy… you have to crawl. Get away from the car. Might be a fire."

He followed my instructions all the same, saying, "Gotta to keep low… snipers about."

I knew he'd been in the Royal Marines. If that's what it took to keep him moving I emphasized the point. "Yes, Tommy, keep crawling! Danger! Come on now!"

He followed my instructions but I let him stop after fifteen yards. "Good, Tommy, good job! Now just stay here." I went back to the Merc. Ruth stood staring at the mashed wreckage. "The insurance agent won't be happy," she muttered. She'd tucked her right arm into her jacket as makeshift sling. "How's he? One of the villagers, no doubt."

"Yeah, but I think he'd got the same problem that his wife Tasha has. Right now, call for help!" I dug in my handbag and got out my mobile; flipped it open. "Half a bar of signal. Better than nothing." I squinted at the screen and hit the first rapid dial number. I heard it ringing faintly in the background.

The ringer stopped and I heard Martin's voice. "Louisa?"

"Martin, look, we're five miles east of Portwenn on the Truro road. Road accident! I'm fine, but Ruth is hurt and Tommy is…"

"God! Whe...?" His voice was scratchy with skipps "re? Tomm…"

"Five miles. Hurry. Bring alcohol! Got it?"

"Yes, ye… ss…. Seven min…s! You… alr…it?"

"Think so yes. But hurry?" The signal failed and as I flipped the mobile cover closed my belly cramped badly and it HURT so I sagged to my knees. Ruth was bending over me rubbing my back when I became able to speak. "This might not be good." So that's what a contraction felt like. Ow. The books don't do it justice. I sighed while a stiff breeze ruffled my hair.

Ruth patted my head then kissed my brow. "Oh my dear."

"Check on Tommy." I sat back on my backside. "I called Martin." Ruth went to Tommy, rolling him onto his side. Then she came back and sat down with me. "Helluva day. He's sleeping. Nothing we can do for him at the moment."

I looked at my watch. "Martin will be here soon. A few minutes." I saw how white her face had gone. "Ruth?"

Her thin lips squeezed together. She started to shake her head then winced. "Louisa, I think I have a mild concussion." She sighed. "Horrible isnt it?"

I peered at her. "No. Things just happened. Could have been worse." I took her good hand and held it gently. "I'm glad you're here."

She grunted. "I'm no heroine, if that's what you mean."

"No," I leaned against her. "And I think I'm in labor."

She laughed. "A banged up psychologist, a passed out taxi driver, and a Head Teacher who's about to have her baby." Ruth pointed to her wrecked car. "This will really piss off my insurance agent. Not as important as the people though."

I started to touch her good arm, but had to bend over again when I had another labor pain. I felt her hand on my back as I moaned. When I got a breath, I asked her the time.

She told me. "Ten minutes then," I calculated. "How are you?"

"Fuzzy vision, a killer headache, and a broken wrist. No real confusion yet, but it's on the way. I'm going to have bruises as well."

"Airbags," I sighed.

"And our seat harnesses. I loved this car. Had it for years." She sighed. "Oh well." She leaned against me. "I'm glad you and Martin are together. He's needed someone like you."

"Oh sure."

"No, I mean it. You're bright, intelligent, certainly a caring teacher I am sure, and steady as a rock. And I can see that you care so much for this village, and for him." She smiled. "There I go oversharing."

I squeezed her hand. "No, it's fine."

"I think… I think I hear a car!" Sure enough a throaty engine note came roaring towards us. It was Martin's Lexus followed by Penhale's police Bedford. "And here comes the cavalry."

Ruth made a pithy comment. "I'm surprised half the village didn't follow."

"Yeah, small villages are that way."

I heard car doors opening. "LOUISA!" Martin yelled loudly.

I stood up. "Here!" I waved and it so good to see him. "We're over here."

He jogged close. "God, oh God, are you okay? What happened?"

"That tosser ran into us," Ruth told him. "Tried to avoid it but you see the result. I have a broken wrist and a mild concussion. The taxi driver is out cold, likely from methanol poisoning, and your fiancée is in labor," she said matter-of-factly.

"OH MY GOD!" he responded then started examining me. "Any sense of rectal pressure, the urge to push? Any leakage of uhm… ammniotic… have your waters broken?"

"No, no, and no," I told him. "But my pains are about ten minutes apart. Better see to Tommy. Go on."

He gazed at me, clearly reluctant to move. "Louisa, when I _saw_ the cars…" his voice broke. "I… feared… the worst."

I rubbed my tummy which was feeling tight. "I know. Okay for now." I patted his hand. "Tommy? I'm worried about him. He spoke to me briefly but he's out cold. Thought he was back in the armed forces."

"Hm, confusion. Not great." Martin scurried over to Tommy and started to work on him. I watched him get to work, his movements swift and sure. That was my Martin. He scuttled back to me. "Methanol poisoning - like his wife."

"Then you know what to do," I told him.

He waved at Penhale, who stood near the mangled cars, his attention focused on smashed metal. "Penhale, get the vodka bottle out of my car! It's in the rear seat!"

"Vodka?" Joe asked in a befuddled way. "Your car's pretty well wrecked, Dr. Ellingham."

That set Martin off. "PENHALE! The hell with the bloody cars! GET THE VODKA!" He snapped his fingers. "NOW!" he shook his head. "What is it with you people?" he muttered.

Joe ran to the Lexus, opened the door, and I heard a crash, the clear sound of a glass bottle breaking. "Oops."

"Oh gawd," Martin winced. "Bloody idiot. He dropped it!"

"Mar-tin," I admonished him. " _Please_ , _don't_ yell at him."

"The man _is_ an idiot!"

I touched his knee. "I know, just…" I nodded at Joe. "He tries hard."

He leaned down, his face near mine. "He's just put _that_ man's _life_ ," he pointed at Tommy lying on the ground, "at jeopardy by being a clumsy oaf!"

I hugged his knee. "You'll sort it."

He blew air through his nose. "Right."

"Now, better get busy. Go on."

He nodded, then turned to Aunt Ruth. "Hello."

"Hello nephew."

"You're injured?" He dug a finger into her carotid artery to take her pulse, being Martin in full doctor mode.

"Yes, as I said," she sighed. "What's the plan? Going to set up field hospital?"

"No. Hm, you'll keep." He stood and scanned the area which was empty of any sign of human construction, but for the roadbed. He flipped open his mobile. "Pauline!" he shouted into it. "Where's the nearest pub?" His faced screwed up. "Coach and Four, got it. Five miles." He put the phone in his pocket (and later I found he out he'd not switched it off) and held out a hand to me. "Up you get, we need to get moving. Tommy needs vodka or he may die."

"You mean that?' I asked.

"Blindness, paralysis, seizures, kidney damage," he sighed. "Just some of the possible outcomes… plus expiration." He looked down at me. "And you."

"Yes, Martin."

He took my hand to help me up. "How long since the last one? Uhm… the…"

"Labor pain? About five minutes, I suppose."

Ruth said, "I'll need assistance as well."

Martin froze for several moments. "Right. I'll take you and Tommy in my Lexus. Penhale, you take Ruth with you." He opened his medical bag, whipped out a long bandage and swiftly wrapped his around his aunt, biding her arm to her chest. "Come on, let's move."

I watched him and Joe as they tried to get Tommy off the ground, but his large body was a deadweight, all fifteen or sixteen stone* of him. They were less than successful, dropping him as they tried to move him. I walked over to them. "Don't keep dropping him!"

"Louisa," grunted Martin, "we're not trying to!"

"Well don't do more damage!" I told him sharply.

Penhale answered. "It's his fault, what I heard, Louisa."

"Well," I snapped. "I trust you'll still take care."

Martin gave Joe a sharp look so he shut it.

Finally after fits and starts, Ruth was tucked into the Bedford, and Tommy was strapped into the backseat of the Lexus. I had to undergo another heavy-duty contraction.

Martin watched me as he started his car. "Sorry about all this."

"Not your fault… is it?"

His hand stole over to my belly which he felt quickly. "That…"

"A con… trac… tion," I started to pant. "No, not now," I begged to whoever. The baby books DO NOT do them ANY justice. I watched the clock on his dash as this one lasted a full minute.

Martin sat there stiffly. "Right," he snapped, put the car into gear and accelerated, with Joe's Bedford hot on our heels. He muttered something.

"What?"

He cleared his throat. "Birthday. His birthday is today."

I breathed deep. Our journey was just beginning. "Right."

 **Author's notes:**

 **Stone - An old English unit of measure equal to 14 pounds or 6.3521 kilograms. Tommy, a fleshy man, would weigh about 230 pounds = 16.4 stone or 104 kilos.**


	103. Chapter 103

Chapter 103 – Implications

The Coach and Four stood alone on the sloping plain with Rough Tor in that direction and Brown Willie in the other. The heather and rough grasses had turned gold in the heat and a soft wind rustled the stems in a beautiful scene if waving golden waves. I'd have been able to appreciate it all the better but I found the sudden weight of a human infant pressing down inside my pelvis, while shooting pains went up my back.

"Oh God," I said through gritted teeth, trying to keep Martin unaware of what has happening. No, no, it wasn't supposed to be like this! I bit my lip.

"Louisa! What?" He snatched at my elbow in apparent panic.

"Labor, Martin," I sagged back in the seat. "It's… painful."

He started to reach for my arm but I shook him off. "Tommy. Get Tommy under care! He needs you more right now! Go on."

He jumped out of the car yelling for Penhale, while I managed to unbuckle, push open my door, and with great effort swung my feet outside the door. "Ugh, this…" I looked up to see Ruth staring at me. "Isn't easy."

"Oh, my _dear_ ," she said softly, but then offered her good arm. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

Pulling on her and pushing against the car I got to my feet. I took a shallow breath. Right. Come on Louisa. Getting close now. Don't fall down. Take slow breaths. Concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, I let Ruth guide me towards the pub. I watched as Martin and Joe lifted Tommy from the car and tried to get him to the building.

Ruth put her left arm around my waist. "Steady now. Good girl. Steps coming up. A few more feet."

"Sure," I told her. I held myself vertical despite that baby down there as I waddled slowly towards the pub.

Ruth steadied me down the three steps on the path to the door. At the portal, Ruth pushed on it and twisted the knob. "Locked. Damn," she swore, then began to pound on the door. "Never a bloody port in a storm when you need one," she muttered. I sagged against the wall while she went over to a window and peered inside. "Looks dark in there. Perhaps they are away?"

We were interrupted by a fleshy sound as Tommy fell to the pavers when Joe and Martin released him.

"Mar-tin!" I yelled at them. "You'll hurt him! Be careful!"

"It's people like _him_ that cause _all_ the trouble for the _rest_ of his," he protested.

Joe shrugged and tried to smile, like it wasn't his fault.

"Martin, the door's locked," Ruth said calmly. "Now what do we do?"

Joe pushed on the door, which didn't budge, so he took his flashlight from his equipment belt and hefted it meaningfully. "No room at the inn. Well, I hate to do this… but in case of emergency?" He brightened. "All in a day's work. Not the _usual_ part of a policeman's job to damage private property, but all the same…" He shrugged and drew back his arm to use his flashlight as a hammer.

I held up my hand. "No." Groaning with the effort, I bent over as far as I could, tipped up an overturned flower pot, and picked up a skeleton key hidden there. "Here. Try this. Old Cornish trick. Locks; not rocks."

Ruth raised her eyes in surprise, but took the key, stuck it in the lock, and turned it. She pushed and the door opened showing a dim interior.

Typical pub, I saw. Dark floor with wood beams overhead and whitewashed plaster walls. The bar was polished and shining, with a row of bottles and football trophies behind it, but the air was stale and breathless; all very quiet and vaguely lifeless. A few tables and chairs, some stools and a large blackened fireplace graced by a gaudy orange sofa filled one end of the room. The room was empty of people.

I hobbled forward guided by Ruth, followed by Joe and Martin, who dragged poor Tommy over the threshold and across the slate floor. I saw that Martin was also carrying his medical case, for certainly that would be needed.

Joe laughed. "A GP, a criminal psychologist, a Head Teacher, and a policeman walk into a pub," he jested.

I gave him a look. " _No_ Joe. Not funny."

His face fell. "Sorry, Lousier. But you have to admit it is a little amusing."

I shook my head at him. No Joe. Come on. Focus!

Martin clapped his hands right in Joe's face. "Penhale I'll need your help!"

I took his arm. "Joe, see if anyone is about? Go on." I shoved him to get him moving.

"Right. HELLO?" Joe bellowed loud enough to wake the dead. Only the echo of his voice answered.

Martin looked up at him where he was crouched down by Tommy. "Joe! See if anyone is in the back or upstairs, then I need a bottle of vodka from the bar!" He snapped his fingers. "Quickly! Move!"

Joe shook himself into action by pulling up his wide belt, and squaring his shoulders, then he marched away behind the bar and disappeared into a back room. I heard him calling out, then I saw that Ruth had sagged down in a chair. "Ruth?" Her face had gone grey.

Bleary blue eyes looked back at me. "Sorry, Lou… Louisa," she mumbled. "Feeling a bit off."

"Mar-tin!" I alerted him. "Ruth's not well!" I felt a contraction starting in a small way. "And, I… need the toilet." I followed Joe into the back, where a kitchen was as dark and silent as the rest of the ground floor. The loo was adjacent and I gratefully went to use it. A hard contraction clamped down as I was sitting and suddenly I was Victoria Falls. God! My waters broke, just like Isobel. Well at least I was in a house and not on a bench up on Lobber's Point. I sat there until I felt I could stand, then I opened the door and called for Joe.

He popped his head around the corner. "Yes?"

"Your arm." Hanging on him I had him take me back to the front room.

Martin was taking Tommy's bold pressure and my appearance must have told him something for he raised his eyebrows. "Problem?"

"Waters broke," I managed to say then I had to take the back of the chair Ruth was sitting on and bent over as pain started. "Ohhh. And I'm having heavy contractions." I muttered as I tried to focus on getting air into lungs that didn't seem to want to work.

Now my baby was pushing down, or at least my uterus was clamping hard, trying to push it out! I flashed on a drawing I'd seen of a baby in mid-birth being pushed through its mother's pelvis like a reluctant bottle cork. Of course I felt it all as pelvic ligaments tried to stretch and that HURT! Our baby was trying to get out of me and I had to help it! I took a deep breath and began to bear down, groaning, trying to point it in the proper direction. Martin suddenly was holding me up, bracing me as the contraction built.

"OoooOooOoooOooooWWWWWW." Came out, all on its own. When I got a breath I gasped out, "Mar-tin… I…. _need_ your help."

His strong arms circled me as he said, "Right," then he bodily scooped me up, and gently set me on the orange sofa by the fireplace.

"Yeah," was all I could say and then the room seemed to go dim as I pulled my legs up as it started all over again.

There are moments when time freezes, or seems to. I was aware of Joe clicking bottles together, while Ruth muttered something, Tommy was truly snoring, but Martin was right by me in a bright bubble of light and peace. His finger ran down my cheek to my neck, but then I felt it dig in. He was taking my pulse, while I took little sips of air trying to keep the pressure up down there. "Ughhh, ohhhh, MY, OWWWWW! OOOOOooooooowwwwwww." My head sagged back on the sofa. "That… was a _big_ one."

Martin's face went white and his eyes bulged as he looked at me. "Louisa," he urged, "Stay with me. Ruth!" he shouted. "Louisa has P.L."

"P.L.?" I managed to ask.

"Precipitous Labor - likely brought on by your advanced stage of pregnancy and the shock of a car crash."

"Oh, right. So, we're doing this here?" through a haze of fading discomfort, I asked.

Martin ducked his head. "Seems so." He stepped away from me and called out, "Penhale!"

Joe was right there at my shoulder. He frowned at me. "Miss Glasson," he said.

Martin got directive. "Penhale, go find some towels, plenty of them, and perhaps a blanket. Bring those over here. Then find and open a bottle of vodka, prop up the fool of a taxi driver somewhere so he doesn't drown or choke, and start pouring the vodka into him. He may struggle, but do it any way." Martin took one of the sofa cushions and put it behind my back and neck when the contraction stopped. "And check on my aunt. Don't let her fall off that chair. She's been concussed."

Joe couched. "Then I'll come back to help you?"

"No. You stay with Tommy. If he starts to gag or vomit, put him on his side." Martin wiped a bead of sweat off my forehead. "That…" he looked down at me, "was another hard one?"

I grabbed his hands and squeezed them with all my might. I must have hurt him, but we were in this together. When he got his hands free, he turned to take a stack of towels and a blanket from Joe. He looked at me. "Less than ideal…"

"It's okay."

He padded the sofa with towels, stripped my pants off in one swift move, and then tucked the blanket over my legs. "Now," he started to say, just as a small gush of fluid flew across the sofa. "Yes. Waters are fully broken." He replaced the towels for dry ones. "Better?"

Suddenly I felt lighter somehow, yet also wetter. "Maybe."

He turned to check on Penhale. "How's that taxi driver?"

"He doesn't like the vodka," Joe replied.

"Too bad for him."

I reached out and took Martin's hand. "Thanks for takin' care of me."

"Louisa, I'm sorry about all this." He looked around the dim room then went to a power panel to flick switches and what lights there were came on. "Better," he grunted. He quickly checked on Tommy and Ruth, then knelt by my side. "Louisa, when the time comes, and you'll know when, I want you to pull your knees up to your chest, spread your legs far apart, take deep breaths, and aid the contractions as the baby is born. I'll," his face started to blanch, "I'll aid you as I can."

"Pain relief?" I gasped.

He shook his head. "You need an epidural and I don't have the equipment, and there's no time." He checked his watch, then stared at me. "Soon."

"What?" Sure enough and almost on cue the freight train arrived with a bang as my uterus clamped down. It went on like that, five minutes apart, then four minutes apart, until… let's just say that somewhere along the way I totally lost track of the time and when contractions started or stopped, but Martin was right with me the whole time.

After an especially long push, I was spent, but the pain didn't stop. I caught a few breaths, and then it was off to the races all over again. Keening, and wailing, I held onto Martin's coat and whipped him from side to side. "Mar-tin… OOOAAAAEEEEEEWWWW-OOOoooAAEEEEE-WWWWW-www-ooooooooo-aaaaaiii!" I saw the look on his face. Fear, pain, and concern.

"Steady," he told me. "You're doing _fine_. The head's presenting."

I'd felt it, and now it was… _painful_. I reached down between my legs.

Martin forced my hands away, and I saw him snap surgical gloves on his hands. He was huffing and puffing, panting, as much as I was. "Oh God," he hissed and actually backed away from me.

Where was he going? I watched while he retreated step by step.

"Mar-tin?" I sobbed. "Where are you going?"

He shook his head. "I… I can't... do it."

"What?" I was suffering, with a baby nearly halfway out and my only hope of help got further away, finally backing himself into the corner. "Mar-tin?" COME BACK I screamed in my head.

"Louisa, what if I do something wrong?" he moaned. "What if it goes wrong?" He was actually cringing and shaking. "What if I muck it up?" he asked forlornly. "I… I… don't… uhm… can't…."

All of a sudden Ruth Ellingham wasn't slumped across the table, for she was sitting upright, standing even; as she hobbled towards her nephew.

I was panting, trying to get air, but it also hurt as much to see Martin so lost, as much as what I was physically feeling. He'd lost the plot; gone totally bodmin like Mr. Strain. My pelvis twinged so I had to bear down.

"Martin Christopher Ellingham!" his gray-haired aunt yelled. "That is quite _enough_! Do you intend to cower there in the corner? Crying like a little girl? Poor Mar-tin. Poor Mar-tin? Bugger that! Now nephew, Louisa needs you, your child needs you," she muttered, "and heaven help me, I do as well. Now GROW A BLOODY BACKBONE! Get to _work_! Maybe if someone had jumped you like this when you had a faint back in your fancy London hospital, you'd not have ended up in Cornwall."

I saw as she tapped him on the shoulder with her good hand. "Now get over there and act like the fine doctor that you are, and not a _sniveling_ crybaby who's about to wet himself!"

I saw him gulp, and shake his head as his eyes closed.

Oh well, I thought, I'll just have to birth this baby myself! But no; I was wrong.

Martin's eyes flew open, his back went ramrod straight, and then he shot his cuffs. "Right," he said and then he was kneeling on the sofa, pushing my knees apart, and grasping, pulling, tugging at something hard and round that was down there. "Come on Louisa. PUSH! Come on! PUUUSSSSHHHHHH! Good girl!"

I followed instructions, afraid not to.

"Good, good," he told me, as I felt something shift, get easier somehow. "Now, take a deep breath, bear down, and hold it!"

Ughhhhhh, man this is really, _really_ hard. None of the baby books have any adequate description in print of what _labor_ really felt like. Something changed down there and I could get a breath.

"Breathe," he told me, "the head's out."

I put my hand between my legs and felt wet hair on a round warm head. "Oh, Martin? Is he breathing?"

"He's fine. No, not yet." He did something with a suction bulb. "Just suctioning his mouth, Louisa. It's fine. You're doing well. Now to get his shoulders out, and then we're home free." He looked at me calmly. "I'll hold his head and guide it, down and out, while you push. Ready? This may, uhm, hurt."

I breathed deeply and bore down. Come on son, let's do this, I want to hold you! Been waiting nine months to see your little face. "Ohhhhhhhh."

Ruth was at my side. "Good girl." She wiped my brow. "Come on. Just a little more? Come on, you can do it," she coached me. "One more push and then you can rest," she said softly.

Even Joe got into the spirit from across the room. "Come on Louiser! You can do it! Portwenn's newest citizen is waiting to arrive! Come on!"

With such a cheering section, I did as I was told and was rewarded by a tiny cry!

"He's out!" Martin said in amazement.

I pushed up on my elbow and there he was! "Oh God he's beautiful!" I gushed. "Come here, give him to me!"

Martin wiped him down carefully, then expertly wrapped him in a clean towel, then gently put him in my arms. "James Henry, ahem, this is your mother," he said slowly. "And welcome to the world. Careful of the cord."

I held James firmly, yet not too tightly. My eyes filled with tears. "Oh, such sweet baby boy…" A kissed his damp head and he squirmed, opening his eyes and I swear he looked straight at me. He was warm and wet, and smelled like a new baby. Oh my god, I was a mum! A mum.

"Uhm, maternal hormones will make you cry Louisa," Martin informed me. "As the levels change at delivery, oof." Martin shut up as Joe tackled him in a bear hug and started to pound him on the back with glee.

"Who's the daddy! Who's the daddy? Congratulations Dr. Ellingham," Joe was laughing. "You're the daddy!"

"Get off, you _fool_ ," Martin said. " Have you no sense of personal space? Good God."

I smiled at Ruth. "And James, this is your great-aunt Ruth."

The old woman laughed and kissed my head. "Good girl. I knew you could do it." She chuckled. "And I knew Martin could as well, and hello to you, James Henry. Welcome to the family, such as it is. I _apologize_ in advance for all the trouble other Ellingham's may cause you in future."

In the background I heard a siren, the crunch of tires on gravel, car doors opening and slamming, and then two EMS people barged in; a man and a woman.

"We got a report about methanol poisoning?" the woman asked.

"And a birth!" Joe added. "James Henry Ellingham!"

The female EMT turned to her partner. "Well Frank, looks like we get to clean up in here."

"Yes, and transport," Martin told them.

The lady EMT came over to us. "Now that's a fine looking baby. Who delivered it?"

Martin nodded. "I did. I'm Doctor Ellingham. The cord needs to be clamped and cut, and the placenta delivered," he told her. Then he looked down at his surgical gloves which were wet with fluid and blood and he pushed past her as he ran out the door.

The EMT and I both flinched as we heard him retching outside.

I sighed. "He's my fiancée… and he has a little problem with blood."

"I see," the EMT answered. "A doctor who gets sick over a little blood. Must be… interesting."

Ruth laughed. "Oh, you have no idea. And I am also a patient with a concussion and a broken wrist at least, for we were in a motor accident."

The EMT immediately started to examine Ruth.

Martin came in wiping his mouth. "Sorry about that. How are you?" he asked me.

"We're fine. Come here."

"What?"

"Give us a kiss."

He dutifully kissed me on the mouth, touched his fingers to his lips and then touched James' shoulder. "Was that satisfactory?"

I ought to have stayed in Portwenn, and not gone to London, or conversely contacted Martin when up in Town, at least to talk; especially when I found out I was pregnant. I sighed. So many twists and turns on the road, and yet, here we were, together, the three of us.

Martin was different for it, and so was I. Not easy – neither of us were easy people – but we'd come together anyway. I smiled, exhausted yet fulfilled. "Yes Martin, satisfactory in all that's implied."

"What?" Martin said, clearly having no idea what I meant.

James started to cry and I comforted him. "Shh, shh. It's alright, son, you'll get used to him." I kissed his head. "I have, and so will you."

\- The End -

 **Author's notes:**

 **Thank you for reading my very long tale of Louisa and Martin in an alternate version of Doc Martin – Series 4. I greatly appreciate all your reviews and messages about my fanfiction works.**

 **Now, time to set my keyboard down and have a rest.**

 **Perhaps we shall meet in Portwenn sometime?**

 **Rob**


End file.
